


Our Love Is Pretty Odd.

by the_sky_is_forever



Series: Our Love... [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Ryden, there is a small amount of smut in chapter nine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set when Panic! are writing Pretty. Odd. The band are living in a rented house together for convenience. Each chapter title is a line from a song on the album.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Been So Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon thought idly that maybe it was gravity that was pulling him towards Ryan that very moment.

The practice was in full swing, if you could call it a practice. A jumble of music filled the room and Brendon’s laughter mirrored it. Jon was slouched against the wall, his bass guitar resting practically on his stomach, his playing lazy. Spencer wasn’t drumming any more, just watching the others jam out, laughing at their idiocy. Ryan was playing his guitar so fast it was hard to watch his fingers, his smile lit up his face and he was sort of bopping along to the rhythm. Brendon could barely play; he was laughing so hard. It didn’t take long for him to give up playing and take his guitar off and begin to dance around the room, shouting improvised lyrics to Ryan’s tune at the top of his voice.

The ‘lyrics’ soon became a stream of insults and innuendos and Ryan also gave up playing, collapsing onto the carpeted floor, almost in tears with laughter. Brendon gave him a mockingly scornful look at having stopped playing, halfway through a sentence about Jon’s mother.

Ryan looked up at Brendon, raising an eyebrow at him, and Jon began protesting what Brendon had been about to say.

Ryan hopped to his feet and wandered over to the cooler in the corner of the room. He pulled out four bottles of beer and began tossing them to the others. Brendon caught his but didn’t open it, “Guys,” he started, causing three pairs of eyes to glare at him simultaneously, he did a wonderful job of ignoring this and carried on, “We haven’t even written anything today.”

“I beg to differ,” Jon said, “That line about my mother was particularly inventive.”

Brendon rolled his eyes at the bassist and looked down and the chilled bottle in his hand and then up at Ryan who was already taking a swig from his. He sighed and cracked open the bottle, “Alright,” he conceded, “but I’m not getting drunk.”

Spencer sniggered, “We’ll see.”

As you would expect, Spencer was right.

By the time the cooler had been emptied of bottles, Brendon had drunk more than Jon and Spencer put together, and Ryan wasn’t far behind. Although, Ryan had always been that much better at maintaining his sobriety even after drinking lots. Hours had passed.

Beer from the bottle sloshing over the rim, Brendon swayed where he stood. He stared at Ryan who was looking up at him in bemusement. Their instruments lay on the floor, forgotten and abandoned. Spencer was sleeping quietly, leaning against the wall, and Jon was softly playing his bass guitar, strumming a line from an old song over and over.

Ryan’s hair had fallen into his eyes and Brendon couldn’t stop staring. He knew he was staring; he knew he should stop. He also knew he couldn’t stop. He blamed it on the alcohol.

Ryan was staring back, a challenge. After their intense staring competition – that Brendon didn’t actually know was happening – had lasted over a minute, Ryan laughed, “Brendon, you need to sit down or else gravity is going to force you to.” He said.

Gravity: Brendon thought idly that maybe it was gravity that was pulling him towards Ryan that very moment. He was vaguely aware of his head nodding and his feet carrying him over to the other man. He flopped down on the patch of carpet to Ryan’s left in a less than graceful manner and dropped his still half-full bottle onto the floor. They sat and watched the liquid pour out over the floor, neither one making any move to stop it.

Brendon’s head was fuzzy from the drink; thoughts were swimming through his mind. He turned to look at Ryan, the corner of his mouth curling upwards. They were sat so close. Too close. Brendon could see the faint freckles on Ryan’s nose, could see each individual eyelash. He felt that force pulling him in again. Gravity. Always gravity. His eyes trailed down to Ryan’s lips; he was helpless to stop them.

He swallowed.

Ryan was staring back, lips slightly parted. He struggled to find something to say, some way to break the moment, but he was too drunk, too caught up.

Ryan licked his lips, and Brendon couldn’t stop himself.

He leant forwards, too quickly, and pressed his lips to Ryan’s. The guitar was still playing in the background and Ryan wrapped his hand around the back of Brendon’s neck, pulling him closer, not letting him get away. Their noses bumped together and Brendon’s eyes opened slightly, giggling into the kiss, drunkenly. Ryan’s eyes were still closed with pleasure; he let out a sigh into Brendon’s mouth. Brendon’s whole body responded and he surged forwards, his hands moving to Ryan’s shoulders before skimming down the length of his arms delicately. Their hearts were pounding rapidly.

All too soon, Ryan was pulling away, his body becoming stiff instead of the languid, relaxed pose it had had until now. Brendon, in his state, tried to follow and Ryan’s hand came up between them, landing on Brendon’s chest, stopping him from getting too close. “Ry, what-?” Brendon started to say quietly. Ryan’s wide eyes stared at Brendon, scared.

“I- I-,” Ryan stuttered, “I can’t-.” They both became aware that the music had stopped and the pair turned to look over at Jon abruptly. He was watching them, his jaw hanging open in shock. Ryan’s eyes jumped from Jon to Brendon and back to Jon. “Oh, Hell,” he whispered, “I’ve gotta- I’ve gotta go.”

He fled the room like a scared animal, leaving Brendon staring after him.

Despite being on the verge of tears – God, Brendon hated being drunk – Brendon turned to look at Jon, whispered the words, “Don’t ask, please.”

Jon bit his lip, clearly wanting to, but nodded.

Brendon stood up, “I’m going to bed,” He told Jon, sadly, “Don’t tell Spencer what happened, either.” He added, as an afterthought. Despite already being drunk he couldn’t help but wish he had drunk more.

Jon cleared his throat, “Alright, Brendon.” He replied, watching the man leave the room dejectedly.

As soon as Jon was sure Brendon was out of sight and earshot, he threw the nearest empty beer bottle at Spencer, so that it landed on his stomach, making him jolt upright, “You’ll never guess what just happened.”

Spencer leant forwards, interested.

*

Brendon’s fingers skated across the piano’s keys in the living room of the house they were renting, unable to sleep. The music poured out into the air around him and he searched desperately for an escape. His voice was low over the music, singing versions of old songs slowly, mixing lyrics from difference songs. “It’s time for us to take a chance,” he crooned, followed by, “because I’m just praying for love and paying in naivety…” His fingers tripped over themselves, hitting notes that didn’t sound right. He stopped playing, putting his hands down on the stool either side of his legs.

And then he started to cry.

Ryan watched through the crack in his door and he felt like he was falling apart.

*

It took three months for Brendon to bring it up. He could lie and say that he’d been trying to respect Ryan’s feelings, or he could be honest and say that he was scared. Jon had tried to talk to him about it; Spencer too. He knew that they’d talked to Ryan too, not that it would do any good; Ryan wouldn’t be alone with Brendon, let alone talk about what had happened. Well, Ryan wouldn’t be alone with Brendon up until the point where it was unavoidable.

The awkwardness in the air was tangible. Ryan’s fingers drummed the surface of the table he was leaning on. Brendon determinedly looked anywhere but at Ryan. If he looked at Ryan now, he’d remember how it felt to have his lips on him, his hands on his neck, his body moving closer. He didn’t look at Ryan.

They stood silently for five minutes, waiting for Jon and Spencer to turn up.

After five minutes, Brendon couldn’t take it, he cleared his throat and, still not looking at Ryan, spoke up, “So,” he said, uncomfortably, “How are you?”

Ryan threw him a look that Brendon didn’t see, due to the fact that he was still staring at the ceiling, fingers pausing in their repetitive mantra he replied monotonously, “Fine.”

Brendon’s eyes dropped from the ceiling to look at Ryan, at last. Looking him in the eye Brendon felt a surge of confidence mixed with anger and he threw all restraint out the window, “Kissed anyone lately?” He asked, snidely.

Ryan laughed humourlessly but that faded to a look that could almost be called regretful. He swallowed. And then he looked like he was the most fragile human being in all of existence. Brendon’s anger faded immediately and he felt guilt twist his stomach round. Silence fell over them again as they both looked away, down at the floor.

A whole minute passed.

Then, “…You didn’t answer my question.” Brendon said, softly.

Ryan paused, “I didn’t want to.”

Brendon frowned in confusion, “You didn’t want to answer my question? Or… You didn’t want to kiss me?” His eyes found Ryan’s, holding his gaze.

“Both? Neither? The first one?” Ryan sighed, “I don’t know, Bren.”

Brendon nodded and didn’t reply. He stared at Ryan for a second longer and then averted his gaze, going back to staring at the ceiling resolutely.

When Jon and Spencer arrived, less than a minute later (both Brendon and Ryan had a sneaking suspicion that they’d been stood outside the door, waiting for them to talk), there was still a sense of awkwardness but there was something that felt more relaxed already. It was less tense and more… uncertain. Like they were on the edge of a cliff, unsure of whether they would fall or take a step back, only knowing that they were in it together.

Spencer gave the two of them a look that confirmed to Brendon that they had heard every word.

Practice that day was… weird. Brendon discovered that working on a love song that you wrote, with the one person you want to be with in the room, is an insanely intimate experience. Especially when said person won’t stop giving you sharp, confused, looks every time you come up with a new line.

*

“Ohhh, it’s been so long,” Brendon sang under his breath, strumming lightly at the guitar. He let go of the guitar with one hand and picked up his pencil, jotting down a chord, picking up his guitar he carried on, “We’re so sorry we’ve been gone; we were busy writing songs for youu…” He laughed to himself, at his own stupid joke. There was no way the others would let him put it in the album but, be honest, it was funny.

He called Jon over, grinning (he hadn’t done much of that lately, so Jon came willingly), and sat him down, “Listen to this,” he giggled and began to play the tune. Jon listened, eyebrow raised.

When Brendon finished, and looked at Jon with a massive smile, Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay,” Jon said, “I’ll admit that’s genius.”

Brendon’s eyebrows shot up, “I expected you to tell me I’m an idiot,” he laughed.

“So did I when you called me over.” Jon admitted. Then he smirked, “The fans would love that as an opening track.”

“That’s what I thought!” Brendon chimed. The two of them laughed loudly.

A quiet knock on the door drew their attention and, looking to see who it was, Brendon’s laughter died on his lips. Ryan was stood in the doorway, hand on the doorpost, half in and half out as though unsure if he was alright to stay. Jon glanced between the two of them.

Ryan took a deep breath and seemed to lean more heavily on the door post, “Um,” he started, hesitantly, “I was wondering if I could talk to you, Brendon.”

Jon had to bite back a smile at how scared Ryan looked, like a schoolboy with a crush. Then he looked at Brendon and his smile faded. Brendon’s face was closed off, his eyes boring into Ryan, “No.” Brendon said, slowly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.”

Ryan opened his mouth to reply but shut it quickly. He turned on his heel and fled.

Jon rounded on Brendon, “Go after him.”

“No.”

“Brendon, I’m not going to tell you again.”

Brendon frowned at his bandmate, “Why should I?”

Jon sighed in frustration at how idiotic his friends were, “Because I was there; I saw what happened. That boy is trying to talk to you and, after what I saw, that means he has something important to say to you and you will seriously regret not hearing him out.”

Brendon sat back in his seat and crossed his arms.

Jon’s face darkened and he glared at Brendon, “I swear if you don’t go out there right now I-.”

“Alright, fine!” Brendon cried, “I’m going!”

He took his sweet time getting up and leaving the room, but Jon was pleased because, Hell, at least he was going. Jon gave Brendon a moment before getting up and following. He wasn’t going to miss this conversation.

Brendon walked down the hallway to Ryan’s room, arguing with himself internally the entire time. On one hand, he really didn’t want to have this conversation; to hear Ryan tell him to back off and leave him alone because it wasn’t going to happen. On the other hand, Jon would know if he didn’t go and some part of him, a miniscule part, wanted to hear what Ryan could possibly have to say to him. It couldn’t get any worse than this, he reasoned, and rapped sharply on the door. There was a pause. Then, “Um, yeah, come in?” Brendon couldn’t not smile at Ryan’s voice, full of uncertainty, but he straightened his face out before opening the door and going in.

Ryan was sat on his bed, legs crossed beneath him, eyes slightly red, but his chin was up, head held high, and Brendon felt irrationally proud of him. Brendon moved into the room slowly and shut the door behind him, leaning up against it. “You wanted to talk.” He prompted, quietly.

Ryan nodded carefully, eyes watching Brendon. Brendon was forced to look into Ryan’s eyes and he felt ill at the sadness in them and how he knew that he was the cause of that pain. Ryan took a deep breath. “You kissed me.” He said, simply.

Brendon’s eyes squinted slightly as he thought about what he should say to that, “You kissed me back.” He said eventually.

“I was drunk.”

“So was I.”

Ryan didn’t reply. He chewed the inside of his cheek, an old habit that sometimes emerged when he was really worked up. Brendon didn’t miss that fact. When Ryan spoke again his voice was reserved and he didn’t make eye contact with Brendon, “Did you want to kiss me?”

Brendon could have laughed. Did Ryan really not know how utterly gone Brendon was when it came to him? “You know that I did.” Brendon said, refusing to look away from Ryan in the hopes that Ryan would look back at him. “Do you really think I would kiss you if I didn’t?”

The clock on the wall was ticking too loudly and Brendon had to fight the urge to go and rip it off its hook. He found himself tapping his hand against the wooden door in time to the ticking and he clenched his hand tightly, forcing himself to stop.

Ryan pinched his lips together. The next question that he should ask was obvious, but he didn’t want to ask it. He didn’t want to hear Brendon tell him that _yes, of course he loved him_ and that _he always had and always will_. If he heard that now, he would probably ruin one of the best friendships he’d ever had by- yelling at him? kissing him? he wasn’t sure. Instead he said what was possibly the hardest thing he’d ever had to say in his whole life: “I didn’t want to kiss you.”

His eyes flickered up to look at Brendon. Big mistake.

He knew Brendon too well to pretend that he didn’t know when the man was falling apart. And Brendon was definitely falling apart. He could tell by the way that he was leaning against the wall heavier, the way his hand kept clenching and unclenching, the way his eyes were darting around Ryan’s face, unable to look at one place for more than a second.

Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. Fifty. A minute.

“Okay.” Brendon said. Too much time had passed (he’d allowed too much time to pass) and Ryan could see right through the lie.

He pretended he couldn’t.

“It was a mistake. I was drunk. It shouldn’t have happened.” Ryan told Brendon, reeling off all the excuses he’d tried to tell himself every day since it had happened. All the lies.

“Right,” Brendon replied, his voice barely a whisper, “A mistake.”

There was a long silence in which they stared at each other. Brendon nodded abruptly and span round and wrenched the door open, all but running from the room. He pretended he didn’t see Spencer and Jon legging it round the corner. He wasn’t in the mood for that.

*

Jon sat opposite Spencer at the kitchen table, tapping a pen against the cold surface, “We’ve got to do something.” He said.

Spencer laughed, “You think?” He mocked.

Jon rolled his eyes at Spencer before becoming serious, “This is a really big deal, Spence.” He sighed.

“More like, this is a really big fuck up,” Spencer corrected, “Did you hear them in there? They’re totally fucked.”

Jon couldn’t not laugh, despite himself. The situation was so absurd. Then he grinned at Spencer, “We have to get them together.”

“Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that, yes, technically Ryan wrote We're So Starving. Yes, it annoys me too that I put Brendon as writing it. Sorry.


	2. You Know That You Feel It Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan’s heart clenched, “This isn’t a promise,” he whispered. And then he leant in and kissed Brendon.

Brendon constantly had an air of gloom about him, no matter what, for weeks after his and Ryan’s conversation. Jon and Spencer found it unbelievably tiresome, so did Ryan, to be fair, but he really couldn’t make a scene about it without it turning on him. Jon and Spencer could.

After practice one day, when Ryan had already bolted from the room, they grabbed Brendon by an arm each and dragged him to the living room for a sit down. Brendon went with them, only dragging his feet a little. He was too fed up to bother putting up a fight.

Sitting him down on one side of the coffee table, they sat on the other. Brendon gave them a confused and innocent look and Spencer rolled his eyes, “Don’t give us that bullshit, Brendon.”

“You know exactly what this is about, and you probably know what we’re going to say.” Jon said pointedly.

“Get on with it then.” Brendon mumbled, wishing he could disappear.

“You’re _moping_.” Spencer said. “It needs to stop and you need to damn well do something about this before it gets any worse and Ryan runs off to join a goddamn brothel or something.”

Brendon’s mind fixated on that image for a moment longer than it probably should have and he felt his face heating up. Shaking it off, he rolled his eyes, “What am I supposed to do?” Everything they said, everything they were hinting at, was absurd.

Jon spread his hands out on the table and leant in, “We’re going to help you. Ryan is in love with you; he’s just too scared to admit it. We’re going to make him admit it.”

Brendon squinted at them, “I don’t want Ryan to do anything he doesn’t want to…” He said slowly, “Also, you kinda sound like you want to torture him.”

Spencer laughed at Brendon’s apprehension, “Calm down we won’t kill him.”

Brendon bit his lip; this felt like it could go wrong too easily. “What exactly did you have in mind?” He asked, hesitantly.

Jon and Spencer grinned at each other excitedly and Brendon began to regret everything already.

*

The air was cold outside. Winter has a way of doing that. Ryan pulled his jacket closer around his body and hurried down the street. The bag over his shoulder was heavy with books, sheets, pens, and other debris and he hoped to find a coffee shop, or a store, that he could duck into. Somewhere that was warm but wasn’t the band’s temporary home. Somewhere that Brendon wasn’t.

He knew that he wasn’t being fair on Brendon, lying to him like this. But he was terrified. It was a lot easier, maybe, to tell Brendon that he wasn’t interested, and stay away from him as much as their small living quarters would allow. So anyway, Ryan was out and avoiding Brendon with everything he had.

His scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck and pulled up over his mouth, Ryan hated the cold. It made his skin feel dry and he hated the constant shivering. A small coffee shop on the side of the road caught his eye and he was relieved to see that it was reasonably empty.

A bell chimed above the door as he swung it open and stepped into the warmth. Letting out a soft sigh of pleasure at the heat, he smiled and went to sit at the table furthest from the door so he wouldn’t be caught in a draft every time someone opened the door. He pulled off his jacket and scarf and hung them over the back of his chair and picked up the menu. His eyes scanned it quickly and soon enough he was sat with a mocha in between his hands, keeping him warm, and a slice of chocolate cake was on a plate in front of him, untouched. He watched the few people that were also in the shop, enjoying the peace of the moment, quiet music playing in the background filtering into his conscience.

After a while he plucked his book from his bag and began to read, losing himself in the story, while he sipped at his drink. It was nice to think about someone else’s story and nothing else.

Of course, it was way too much to ask for him to have a few hours to himself.

Ryan let out a groan as he saw his friends enter the coffee shop. They didn’t seem to notice him tucked into the far corner and he hoped that would last. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his friends, more that they spent so much time together that it was nice to get away for a bit. Especially with everything that had happened recently. Subtly, he watched them order coffee and sit down at a table on the other side of the shop, laughing and talking loudly. A smile slipped onto his mouth without his permission as he watched Brendon enjoying himself. That was different, these days. Now he really didn’t want them to notice him. It was times like this that he wished he could just disappear, turn invisible, or blend into the background more than he did naturally.

His insides clenched as Brendon threw his head back and laughed at something Jon or Spencer said. Ryan loved the way Brendon used his whole body when he laughed. It was so expressive and suited him so wonderfully. Biting his lip he tried to ignore them, turning back to his book.

He managed to read three pages before a disapproving voice interrupted him, “Surely you aren’t going to leave that cake, Ry.”

Ryan’s head lifted before he even had a chance to quite process who was talking to him.

Eye’s locking, Ryan swallowed. He didn’t even bother trying to act like he hadn’t known they were sat over there, Brendon was looking at him like he knew exactly what was going on. He looked down at the cake, “I guess I’m not really hungry.”

Brendon smiled and flopped into the chair next to Ryan, pulling the plate of cake towards him, “Perfect. Then you won’t mind me eating it.”

There was a moment in which Ryan stared at Brendon in absolute shock. Then a smile began to form on his face and the awkwardness passed.

On the other side of the room Jon and Spencer high-fived; their plan was working. It hadn’t taken them very long to track Ryan down after he left, mostly because they knew him so well. The surprising part had been how nonchalant they had managed to act coming into the café; they weren’t exactly top-class actors. Although, this was an emergency so maybe that influenced them.

Ryan folded the corner of his page over and put the book down on the table, his hands folding on top of it, a safe distance from Brendon. Brendon dug into the cake, ripping bits off and licking them from his fingers, making a mess. The problem with Brendon was that he had such an ease about him, an unusual style, that Ryan was sure he could do just about anything and no one would so much as bat an eyelid, no matter how disgusting his table manners were. They just didn’t seem like bad manners when Brendon did them. “Watcha reading?” Brendon asked, craning his head to get a look at the title. Ryan didn’t answer, instead sliding the book across to Brendon, slightly nervous about Brendon’s grubby fingers. When he didn’t recognise it, Brendon shrugged, “I don’t know it.”

Ryan smirked, “I didn’t expect you to.”

Brendon gave him an offended look and pushed the book back across roughly, before he remembered that Jon and Spencer had told him to avoid picking a fight. He sighed and shrugged again, “Guess I don’t read much.”

Ryan seemed to be feeling guilty about his comment and he shook his head, “No, I mean, it’s not a very well-known book.” He told Brendon. “That’s the only reason I didn’t think you’d know it.”

Brendon smiled at the man. Ryan leant forwards subconsciously, leaning on his arms on the table, smiling back at Brendon.

There was a gap in the conversation, in which they just smiled at each other. “You have a nice smile.” Brendon told Ryan. Ryan’s face immediately closed off, the smile dropping away faster than it had arrived. Brendon frowned, “Sorry,” he muttered.

Ryan wrestled with the idea of getting up and leaving but forced himself to stay. He shook his head, looking down at his hands, “It’s fine,” he said. Though it wasn’t.

Brendon nodded. For the rest of the time they sat there, Brendon forced himself to not give Ryan any more compliments or reasons to feel uncomfortable. It was a hard thing to do when Ryan wouldn’t stop smiling so beautifully; wouldn’t stop laughing in that way that makes everyone around him seem brighter; wouldn’t stop being so wonderful, but he managed. For Ryan’s sake.

Ryan seemed to notice and, when they stood up to leave three hours and two coffees later, Ryan put his hand out and touched Brendon’s arm gently, “Thank you.” He said, simply.

Brendon wanted to ask, “For what?” but he didn’t. He just smiled at the other man and picked up their mugs to take across to the counter, pulling away from Ryan’s touch and feeling like he left part of him there.

Ryan watched Brendon walk away from him, albeit temporarily, and wished he was braver, that he knew how to love and be loved without screwing everything up. He tried to stop that thought in its tracks. That was not what he wanted. He did not love Brendon. No.

Later that night, when he lay in bed trying to get to sleep, he was pretty sure he’d convinced himself that he didn’t.

*

When Ryan woke up the next morning, stupidly early, he had made up his mind. Brendon was off limits. It was simple to Ryan: you do not date co-workers. No matter what type of co-worker they are. What he wasn’t sure about was how he felt about this decision. It was hard to know if the hollow feeling in his stomach was because he already regretted his choice or just, well, hunger.

The darkness of a winter morning filled his room and he stared at the white wall opposite his bed, wondering if the others were awake yet. Looking at his watch and seeing it was only six am, he assumed they wouldn’t be.

Slipping quietly out of bed and pulling on a thick pair of socks he slid across the hardwood floor, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, shivering in the morning cold. He crept down the hallway, until he came to Brendon’s door, where he paused. He lifted his hand to knock and stopped, hand hovering in mid-air. He clenched his hand and then spread his fingers, forcefully. He let his arm go limp and fall back by his side and he turned and walked in the direction of the kitchen.

Coming into the kitchen, he could smell coffee. So someone was already awake. He had a good guess who. Turning on the light, Ryan flicked on the kettle, heating up the hot water that was still in it from the person who had last used it. He leant against the counter and gazed out the window. A thick layer if frost everything that he could see. He smiled, he may not like the cold, but he loves the scenery that it brings. The kettle clicked behind him and soon enough he had a warm coffee, black, two sugars, in his hands.

He headed through the front room.

He stopped.

Dozens of roses covered the coffee table. Bunches of cream roses and, in the very centre, one red rose. Ryan blinked in shock, and slowly walked over to have a closer look.

There was a card in front of them, and it had his name on it.

He picked up the card and flipped it over:

_I used to think_

_That believing in_

_Destiny,_

_Was like believing_

_The world is_

_Flat._

_Then I met_

_You._

Ryan sighed and pressed the card to his lips, looking at all the roses in frustration.

It was too much. And it wasn’t enough.

Ryan sat down on the sofa, cup of coffee in one hand, card in the other. Putting the coffee on the floor, he reached out and picked up a cream rose with a finger and a thumb. There was a tag on it: _Cream roses – Appreciation._ He smiled at the roses meaning. He knew what a red rose meant, but he still picked it up to look: _Red roses – Romance._

Dropping the roses and pulling his knees up onto the sofa, Ryan curled up. His head on the arm of the sofa, he fell asleep, wrapped in his blanket, staring at the roses with the card still clutched in his hand, his coffee going cold on the floor beside him.

*

No one mentioned the roses. As the days passed, Ryan grew more and more frustrated; he knew that Brendon couldn’t have pulled that off by himself which meant that both Spencer and Jon were in on it. Those traitors.

On the fourth day after the roses incident, they’d all been cleared away, except for two. Ryan had taken the red and a cream rose and put them in a tall glass in his room by his bed. He’d pointedly ignored Brendon’s smug look when he’d done this. Later on, at practice, they were going over their newest song and Ryan didn’t miss the way Brendon turned to face him, hands spreading out in front of him palms facing Ryan, a cocky smile on his face, when he sang the line _You know that you feel it too._ The smile that Ryan tried to hide was completely ridiculous and he bit his lip, looking down at his guitar. Brendon continued to flirt with Ryan throughout the song, dancing around Ryan and making the man blush terribly. _Man it feels good to feel this way._ Brendon ran a hand gently across Ryan’s shoulders as he passed him and Ryan had to fight the temptation to bury his face in his hands, laughing and flushing red. Jon and Spencer just exchanged looks, rolling their eyes at Brendon’s flirting techniques, but grinning at how effective it seemed to be.

Ryan couldn’t stop laughing at Brendon’s antics. He knew that this was the sort of thing he was supposed to be discouraging but he couldn’t help but love it. Brendon’s confidence was just so damn attractive and besides, he’d rather have this than them not talking. At the end of the song, Brendon plucked Ryan’s hand from his guitar and pressed it to his lips, maintaining eye contact the entire time. He did it with the flair he has when keeping up a stage persona, but this wasn’t one.

Ryan looked at Brendon with amusement in his eyes, “You know we wrote that about taking drugs, right?”

Brendon laughed, “You’re pretty addictive.” He replied, with a smile, before dropped Ryan’s hand and stepping away, not giving Ryan  a chance to reply, “So,” he started, “What song next?”

Ryan shook his head, disbelieving, still smiling.

For the rest of practice, Brendon didn’t do anything quite so forward, unless you count a few glances and smiles during particularly romantic songs or lines. By the end, Brendon was looking pleased with himself, and Ryan couldn’t stop smiling.

Brendon tried to approach Ryan, but Ryan managed to slip away, needing to think about… things for a while. So instead, Brendon went over to Jon and Spencer, “Too much?” he asked.

Spencer laughed, “For most people, I’d say yes, but for you two I think it was just right.”

Brendon grinned. Jon just laughed. “So what’s the next step?” Brendon asked.

*

That evening, Jon and Spencer went out, telling Ryan that they wanted to go sightseeing. Ryan tried to convince them to let him go too but they insisted that he stay and Ryan developed a nervous feeling in his stomach, knowing that Brendon was staying too and that Jon and Spence were definitely in on the get-Ryan-to-date-Brendon plan that seemed to be unfolding.

Ryan hid in his room for two hours before he heard a knock on his door; “Yeah?” he called, purposely not taking his eyes off his book – the one from the café.

His door swung open slightly and Brendon appeared, “I’m ordering Chinese, you want some?”

At his words, Ryan looking up, grinning, “Of course!”

Brendon smiled at the response and led the way back to the kitchen where he had at least twenty varying leaflets out on the side, “I wasn’t sure where to order from,” he admitted, sheepishly.

Ryan laughed, “Well you’ve certainly got a lot of choice.”

Brendon chuckled.

Soon enough, they were sat on the sofa talking, waiting for their food to arrive, too lazy to go out and get it themselves. They faced each other, backs against opposite arms of the sofa, feet almost touching in the centre. “I would have cooked myself,” Brendon was saying, “but I’m not exactly masterchef.”

Ryan smirked, “Yeah, I know,” he told Brendon, “I’ve eaten your cooking.” Brendon laughed, blushing slightly. “I don’t mind,” Ryan continued, “Chinese is good.”

“Yeah, Chinese is good.” Brendon said, echoing Ryan’s words. He seemed to be thinking hard, and when he leant in, Ryan, scared, leant back further. Brendon didn’t seem to notice, “Ry, can I ask you something?”

Ryan’s heart was pounding in his chest, he wanted to say no, to get up and leave before anything serious happened, but he found himself nodding, “Sure,” he whispered.

Brendon paused. “I,” he started, hesitantly, “I feel like I’m getting somewhere, but at the same time getting nowhere. I’m just- just constantly chasing you. Is it too much?” Brendon felt so scared he didn’t want to look at Ryan but he was determined to be brave, and so he did.

Ryan was staring at Brendon, biting the inside of his cheek, “Brendon, I-.” He didn’t know what to say.

Brendon shut his eyes. When he opened them, Ryan had leant in, moved closer to him so that they were sat upright with less than thirty centimetres between them. He looked into Ryan’s eyes, glancing down at the man’s lips briefly, “Do I even have a chance, Ry?”

Ryan smiled at him, softly, his eyes were crinkled round the edge, “Maybe,” he murmured. That was the best he could give to Brendon right then. It wasn’t a no and it wasn’t a yes. It was safe.

Brendon exhaled sharply, his lips parting.

Ryan lifted a hand and pushed some of Brendon’s hair back before trailing his hand down the side of Brendon’s face. Brendon leant into the touch. Ryan’s heart clenched, “This isn’t a promise,” he whispered. And then he leant in and kissed Brendon.

Brendon surged forwards, instinctively, wrapping his hands around the back of Ryan’s neck, one of them moving upwards to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Ryan was more controlled, not wanting to kiss Brendon properly; for fear that he’d never want to stop. His hand stayed touching Brendon’s face, gently, the other resting on Brendon’s leg. Ryan forced the kiss to move slowly, and Brendon followed suit, despite his heart rate quickening.

When the doorbell rang, they broke apart. Staring at each other, Ryan felt guilty. Already regretting kissing Brendon, Ryan got to his feet, “I’ll get it,” he said, leaving the room hastily.

Once he had the food he stood outside the doorway to the front room, where Brendon was sitting, and took a deep breath. He could do this. He just had to stop himself from kissing Brendon again. Friendship.

Walking into the room, Ryan carried the food over to Brendon, pretending that the smile he was receiving had little to no effect on him. He set the food down on the table and stood there, looking down at Brendon. He breathed in deeply.

“You gonna sit down again?” Brendon asked, holding out a hand to pull Ryan down onto the sofa. Ryan didn’t take his hand and sat at the other end of the sofa, the furthest he could sit from Brendon, hoping that he wasn’t being too obvious.

From the look on Brendon’s face, he was.

Brendon stared at him for a moment, and then spoke quietly, “Right,” he said, “no promises.”

Ryan didn’t answer. He stared at the unopened food, not looking at Brendon. After a moment, he stood up and picked up some food, “I’m going to eat in my room,” he whispered, feeling, for some reason, that if he spoke too loudly it would hurt him. He left quickly, without waiting for a reply or saying anything else, and he didn’t look behind him the whole way back to his room.

He didn’t come out of his room until he heard Jon and Spencer get back. Creeping down the hallway he peered into the front room through the gap between the door and doorpost where they had left it slightly open.

Brendon was sat, curled up, against Jon, and Jon’s arms were around him while he cried. Spencer was sat on Brendon’s other side, one hand rubbing up and down his arm. “It’s okay, Bren,” Spencer was saying, “It’s going to be okay.”

Jon bumped against Brendon slightly, “Come on, chin up. You wouldn’t want him to see you cry like this over him, would you?”

Brendon’s answering whimper stuck in Ryan’s head for long after he’d returned to his room.

Ryan cried too, that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a few hours late :/  
> The poem that Brendon leaves for Ryan was written by the wonderful Amanda Torroni. You should definitely check out her work; she's incredible.


	3. Before It Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That kiss was still something he could feel on his lips when he was falling asleep; Ryan’s hands were something that he was constantly aware of, now that he knew how they felt when they touched his face.

Fingers tapping, head bobbing, lips moving silently along with the lyrics. Ryan was trying to ignore the fact that Brendon was staring at him. The bookstore they were in bustled with life, people rushing, trying to buy last minute Christmas presents. Ryan was leaning up against a stand, occasionally having to step to the side as a frustrated teenage girl pushed past him to get at the books, and listening to the music that the store was playing over the hectic sounds of the customers. Brendon was leaning against the wall, not so far away, pretending to examine a book – God knows what it was – but really he was watching Ryan pointedly not look at him. As always, they hadn’t mentioned what had happened. They didn’t need to; everyone knew. Still, Brendon wished they would, if only so that he had an excuse to get angry and shout at Ryan. Not that he particularly _wanted_ to shout at Ryan, but still, it would be nice. Instead, he settled for watching Ryan pretend nothing had happened.

Jon and Spencer had disappeared a while back, saying they were going to buy presents for the guys. Ryan had protested, saying they didn’t need to and trying to convince them to stay, but they went anyway. Brendon had felt dreadful when Ryan had tried to make them stay; it was obvious that Ryan didn’t want to be around him.

Brendon looked down at the book he was holding in his hands, and had been holding for about five minutes now, and, after a moment of blank staring, he turned and put it back on the shelf, sighing. Determinedly he stalked across to Ryan and grabbed him, spinning him round and marching him out of the shop, saying into his ear so that Ryan could hear him, “We’re getting coffee,” as they went.

The coffee was awful. They’d simply walked in silence until they found a coffee shop and gone in. Turns out, you should never trust a coffee shop that you don’t know. Brendon vowed in that moment to never go anywhere except Starbucks ever again and Ryan agreed vehemently when Brendon shared this with him. The only upside to the café was the fact that it was pretty empty and they had comfy chairs.

Just being in a café with Ryan again made Brendon’s insides twist. The memory of a little over a week ago was burnt into his mind. That kiss was still something he could feel on his lips when he was falling asleep; Ryan’s hands were something that he was constantly aware of, now that he knew how they felt when they touched his face. There was something painfully different about the first drunken kiss, and the kiss in their home waiting for the Chinese to arrive. The second kiss had been more relaxed, both of them had known exactly what they were doing. The problem for Brendon being that Ryan knew that it was something he didn’t want to be doing.

Ryan hadn’t exactly been able to get the kisses out of his head, either, but in a rather different way. Ryan wanted to forget and he wanted to remember in case he never got the chance again; wanted to travel back in time and make sure that they didn’t ever happen but also to make sure that they _did_ happen. In short, Ryan was pretty confused about them. And not just about the kisses themselves, also about what he felt towards Brendon. Most days, it felt like all he wanted to do was run across the room, grab Brendon, and pull him into the most knee melting kiss to ever exist. But then other days, usually the days where he let himself get to close to kissing Brendon, he realised that he couldn’t. He couldn’t jeopardise his friendship by dating Brendon – I mean, look what happened to all his previous girlfriends and boyfriends. They all left him, or he left them, and he lost someone he had been really close to. And he wasn’t willing to lose Brendon. Not Brendon… anyone but him.

The pair sat by the window of the café and stared out at the frosty street. Both of them laughed when a woman slipped over on the ice, and then again when a man trying to help her up slipped too. They glanced at each other, their eyes alight with amusement, and in that moment it felt like nothing had changed.

*

Later that day when they had found Jon and Spencer (in The Body Shop, of all places), they set off back to their home, clutching bags filled with gifts for each other. Ryan still thought it was daft to buy presents, but Jon and Spencer had insisted, and Brendon hadn’t minded either way so the vote was in favour of buying gifts. “It’s not like we even have a tree or decorations,” Ryan grumbled as they walked down the road. Spencer’s eyes lit up, excitedly, and Ryan hastily backtracked, “That doesn’t mean we should get one! Spencer, no!”

But it was too late and three days later, they had a tree.

Ryan stood in front of the monstrosity and sighed. Brendon laughed at him, “It’s not that bad, Ry.”

Ryan shot him a disapproving look, “It’s awful.” He griped.

“Don’t let Spencer hear you say that,” Jon said, coming into the room and standing next to Ryan, looking over the tree, “but you’re right.”

The plastic tree ostentatiously took up at least half of their living room and if you tried to walk past it while wearing anything loose you _would_ get caught on it. Brendon sat back on the sofa facing the tree and laughed at his two friends standing there in disbelief. “Well,” Brendon said, cheerfully, “You’ve got at least three weeks to get used to it.”

Ryan looked at him coldly. Brendon winked back. Jon just sighed at the tree again and moved to sit with Brendon, where they were forced to look at the tree for lack of anywhere else to place their gaze.

Despite the tree, all four of them were in the Christmas spirit, no matter how hidden it was (especially in Ryan’s case). Brendon loved the build up to Christmas, especially as it gave him the opportunity to be as cheesy as he wanted to in his continuous efforts to woo Ryan.

He started by forcing him to help out with baking a cake.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Ryan asked Brendon as he rolled the sleeves of his oversized jumper up. Brendon just smiled at him and continued to pass him ingredients out of the cupboard. When Ryan put the last thing down on the surface and turned back to Brendon, not knowing that they were done, Brendon took his chance and leapt off the stepladder he was on at Ryan, “CATCH ME,” he screeched. Ryan’s look of sheer terror was worth the pain when he hit the floor. Brendon burst into laughter, sprawled out on the floor, and Ryan, who had automatically jumped out of the way as Brendon fell, looked down at him in exasperation. “I can’t believe-,” Brendon laughed, “you moved-,” he couldn’t breathe, “out of the way!”

Ryan rolled his eyes, cracking a small smile, “Get up,” he told Brendon, his voice filled with soft fondness.

Brendon grabbed hold of Ryan’s arm and pulled himself up, using the taller man as a stabilizer. Ryan sighed but grabbed hold of Brendon and pulled him up properly.

Jon stuck his head round the corner, having heard the yell and the crash, “What on Earth are you two doing?”

Brendon grinned and held up a bag of flour, “Baking!” He exclaimed excitedly.

Jon gave them a worried look and backed out of the room, wanting no part in any of this.

Ryan turned to Brendon, “Do you even know how to make a cake?”

“Nope!”

“Okay, good.”

*

Three hours later, the room was coated in a thin layer of flour and sugar and various other ingredients. There was an empty milk carton lying on the floor, along with a few smashed eggs and a half eaten bar of chocolate. They sat on the kitchen floor, leaning up against the cabinets, amongst the mess. Brendon’s legs were stretched out in from of him, and Ryan’s were pulled up to his chest. Their cake, if that’s what it was, was in the oven and they sat near it, praying that it didn’t set on fire. Brendon was laughing as he looked at Ryan, a small blob of icing on the man’s chin. Brendon lifted his hand and wiped it off, “How did you get that there?” He asked.

Ryan shrugged, “Probably when I was licking the icing off the wooden spoon.”

Brendon chuckled wiping the icing off his finger and onto the floor. Brendon let his head fall back against the wooden door of the cabinet, smiling. Ryan looked at him, “That cake looked disgusting,” he giggled.

Brendon tried not to laugh, but couldn’t resist in the end; Ryan was right. It had looked totally inedible. “Maybe it’ll be better once it’s cooked?” Brendon suggested, hopefully. Ryan raised an eyebrow, sceptically. Brendon laughed, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s awful.”

Ryan pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. Catching Brendon’s eye he let out a choked snigger. Biting down on his tongue, he grinned at Brendon with mirth. Brendon shook his head, looking down and laughing.

“This was a ridiculous idea.” Brendon admitted and Ryan nodded in agreement. Sitting side by side they surveyed the damage and destruction of their once-clean kitchen. “Spencer’s going to lose his shit.”

Ryan’s eyes grew wide in horror, “Oh, God, we have to get this cleaned up before he sees.”

Part way through cleaning they got a break when the oven starting beeping at them, telling them it was time to get the cake out.

They stood staring down at it. Brendon took in a deep breath. Ryan tilted his head on its side and opened his mouth, preparing to say something. “Is it just me,” he began, slowly, “or does that look… edible?”

“It’s not just you.” Brendon replied, his tone of voice just as confused as Ryan’s.

They looked up from the surprising chocolate cake and their eyes met. They both looked completely shocked and they started to laugh in disbelief. “Holy shit.” Ryan burst out.

Shaking their heads and laughing, they moved away from the cake to let it cool, continuing to tidy up, praying that Spencer didn’t walk in.

If you asked Brendon how he felt right at that moment, he would swear by and reply that he hadn’t felt this happy in weeks. The past few days, re-establishing his friendship with Ryan, keeping his flirting and hopes to a minimum, gave him the thought that they really could go back to the way they were. He didn’t really want it to go back to how it was; he wanted Ryan to be with him, but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’d take Ryan’s friendship over losing him forever. He began to hum under his breath as he brushed a pile of, um, _something_ into the bin. Ryan picked up the tune easily and joined in after a minute and Brendon’s whole being was flooded with a feeling of _this is how it’s meant to be_. His mind caught on the poem he’d written for Ryan, with the roses, and knew he meant every word. Looking across the kitchen at Ryan, Brendon knew that they were end-game. Destiny. Meant-to-be. Call it whatever you want, Brendon knew it was right. He didn’t even mind that it looked like their version would be nothing more than friendship; if it was good enough for Ryan; it was good enough for him.

Their humming filled the room, interspersed with the occasional laugh as one of them screwed up the tune or dropped something they were trying to clean or got too frustrated with the amount of flour that was everywhere. Clearing the room of all evidence was a long and difficult task, but with each other by their sides, it didn’t seem so bad.

Before they knew it, they were done.

Ryan smiled across at Brendon, happily. He could do this. Clearly Brendon was managing to put his feelings aside and so could Ryan. He knew he was doing the right thing; dating Brendon would be a horrible mistake.

Leaving the cake on the side (too tired to decorate it now) they moved into the practice room. Brendon wanted to play for a bit and Ryan was all too happy to accompany him.

Ryan watched Brendon play the piano, sat leaning against the wall, impressed. He was always impressed by Brendon’s ever-flourishing talents. It was just one of the things that drew him to Brendon. Just like gravity keeps you on the ground, everything about Brendon kept Ryan near. And he didn’t mind. Not right now.

Brendon’s long fingers danced across the keys delicately, playing a tune that Ryan knew he knew but couldn’t place. It was beautiful, the notes rising and falling and making Ryan feel at ease and safe. He let himself feel wrapped up by the music, his eyes falling almost closed, watching Brendon through his lashes. The song suited Brendon and Brendon played it as though it came naturally to him. Brendon was smiling, Ryan could see him, and his body moved in time with the music. That was another thing that Ryan loved about Brendon, he really loved the music that he created. He put everything into it and it was one of the only things that made him truly happy. It made Ryan happy too, seeing someone that he loved doing what they love.

Brendon’s tune changed, and before Ryan knew it, Brendon was singing:

_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first, I loved you first_

Ryan smiled at Brendon’s sweet, soft voice. He could actually feel himself falling in love in a very physical sense and he was helpless to stop it.

_Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads_

_But they're just old light, they're just old light_

It felt like wading out into a cold lake on a too-hot summer’s day: that cold relief mixed with not quite being able to breathe at the sharpness of it all.

_And he told me that I'd done alright_

_And kissed me 'til the mornin' light, the mornin' light_

He knew he shouldn’t, not after all the pain he’d caused Brendon trying to stop, but he was most definitely falling in love, stepping out into the relaxing feeling, not stopping and not particularly wanting to stop. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. His eyes were open now, watching Brendon with unabashed pride and happiness.

_You are my sweetest downfall_

_I loved you first_

Brendon played the last few chords with a gentleness that made Ryan’s heart pull.

They stayed quiet for a long while, Brendon’s hands resting on the keys but not moving, Ryan just staring at Brendon.

Ryan got to his feet, was torn between telling Brendon and not. He left the room without saying anything.

Brendon turned to watch him go and bit his lip, thinking that maybe the song had been too real; too intimate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song that bren plays on the piano for ry is this one https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=saZkh1Xacp0


	4. Would You Kiss Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon ran across to him and grabbed his hand again, pulling him off the pavement and into the snow-covered street and once again Ryan felt himself being pulled headfirst into love.

With Christmas creeping up on them fast, Spencer and Jon went mad with decorating. They’d eaten the cake that Ryan and Brendon had made – it was meant for Christmas, but they’d made it way too early and Jon, very sensibly, decided that the best option would be to eat it – and, surprisingly, it had been delicious. Ryan had been especially cautious trying it, but then ate pretty much the entire cake by himself, much to Spencer’s complaints.

There was tinsel _everywhere;_ Ryan was blaming Spencer for that. You couldn’t enter a room without being assaulted by the ghastly sight of sparkling tinsel. It was a source of eternal pain to Ryan that his band members got so excited about decorations. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Christmas; he loved Christmas. It was just that he loved different things about Christmas to the others. Decorations weren’t high on his list of priorities; they never had been when he was a child either. The company and the food were what had mattered and what still mattered to him today. Still, if it made his friends happy, he could go along with showy decorations to an extent.

But the worst part, what he didn’t think he could deal with, by a long shot, was the Goddamn mistletoe.

Ryan stood, staring at it in distaste. It hung above the doorway to the kitchen. He knew that his irritation at its existence was irrational, it wasn’t like Spencer was expecting any of them to actually kiss when they passed underneath it, but just the fact that it was there, just when he’d realised what he felt about Brendon, made him anxious. The temptation to kiss Brendon was enough as it was without the white berries that begged for kisses to be taken place beneath them hanging there. If it hadn’t been for Spencer’s insistence, Ryan would have taken them down.

His mind slipped out of focus for a moment as he stared at the berries, wondering what it would be like if he _did_ kiss Brendon underneath them. There would be a pause, in which they stared at each other, glancing up at the berries above them, and then they’d lock eyes. Maybe Ryan’s eyes would trail down to Brendon’s lips. He’d step forwards, heart racing, and-

“I hope you’re not waiting for me to kiss you,” a voice interrupted, making Ryan jump out of his skin.

Turning round, he found Spencer watching him. “Oh,” Ryan said, “No, I was just thinking.”

“About Brendon?” Spencer asked, displaying his unnerving knack at knowing what people were thinking. Ryan’s blush gave him away and Spencer nodded, thoughtfully, “Have you considered,” he began, “just telling him how you feel and dating him already?”

Ryan looked down at the ground, “It’s not like that.” He muttered.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, “It’s not?”

Sighing, Ryan’s eyes flicked up to meet Spencer’s. Spencer grinned.

‘ _Oh, well_ ,’ Ryan thought, ‘ _might as well tell him_.’

*

Brendon’s shout of laughter echoed through the house as Ryan wobbled, trying to balance a line of fairy lights along the top of a doorway, balancing precariously on the top of a stepladder. “You’re gonna faalll…” Brendon said in a sing-song voice.

“Shut. Up. Brendon.” Ryan replied through gritted teeth, concentrating on the task at hand.

Brendon got up off the sofa and went over to Ryan, “Here,” he said, “let me help.”

He put one hand on Ryan’s leg, and the other on his back, helping Ryan to balance. Ryan’s skin tingled where Brendon touched him and he fought to control his breathing. He wasn’t actually sure that what Brendon had done was on purpose.

Ryan wasn’t sure if it was easier or harder now that he had told someone how he felt. No, wait, it was harder. Definitely harder. Because now he had someone who gave him knowing looks every time he laughed too hard at something Brendon said; who cleared his throat pointedly whenever Ryan stared for just a little bit too long.

Ryan swiftly finished attaching the lights and turned around. Brendon dropped his hands. “Thanks.” Ryan muttered. And then he grinned, “Catch me!” he shouted and jumped from the stepladder. To his surprise, Brendon managed to, and he was set down on the ground by the shorter man impressively well. Ryan laughed and stepped back from Brendon, quickly.

There was a moment in which Brendon stared at Ryan oddly, and Ryan feared Brendon knew until, suddenly, the moment was over, and Brendon looked away. Ryan let out a silent sigh of relief. Ryan turned to leave the room but just before he could leave, Brendon reached out and grabbed his arm, “Ryan, have dinner with me tonight.” He blurted out in a rush.

Ryan froze.

That was a bad idea.

A very, _very,_ bad idea.

“Yes, alright.” Ryan replied.

Even Brendon look surprised at Ryan’s response, so Ryan could barely imagine how shocked he looked. “Really?” Brendon asked, too shocked to give a better answer.

“Um,” Ryan said, eloquently, “Yes?”

Brendon was so relieved he laughed shortly, “Alright, then.” Then, recovering slightly, he winked at Ryan, “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

Ryan laughed too, “Make it seven,” he said, “I’ll be hungry by then.” Then he left the room.

Brendon stood staring after him, a grin spreading across his face; he hadn’t actually expected that to work.

In his room, Ryan couldn’t quite believe what he’d just done. He just agreed to go on a date with _Brendon Urie_. The one person he’d promised himself he wouldn’t date. Jon and Spencer would be pleased. _Will_ be pleased, Ryan corrected. Maybe he should consult them on what to wear. Brendon wouldn’t need to do anything like that; his style was flawless already.

Less than an hour later his door burst open to reveal Spencer, standing there grinning widely, “Brendon just told me,” he announced.

Ryan couldn’t not smile, “I figured he would.”

Spencer practically flew into his room and across to his bed, where he flopped down, “Alright,” he said, “He’s taking you to that Chinese a few blocks away – y’know, the fancy-ish one – so you have to dress nice but not too nice.” Spencer reeled off.

Ryan’s head span with the onslaught of information, “How do you know all this?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, “Like I said, Brendon told me.”

Ryan smiled to himself at the thought of Brendon planning out their ‘date’. He wondered how long Brendon had thought about where he’d take Ryan, if Ryan ever said yes. The fact that he was taking him to a Chinese made Ryan’s head spin thinking about what had happened. Then he had to stop thinking like that, because his heart rate was starting to pick up and he was started to get too nervous.

Spencer and Ryan spent the next few hours leading up to the date trying to decide what he should wear. Ryan and Spencer had very different opinions on what was appropriate so it took them longer than it probably should have but eventually they settled on skinny black jeans, a white shirt, and a black pencil tie loosely knotted around his neck. (Spencer flat out refused to let Ryan wear a scarf).

His stomach twisted as he sat, dressed and ready, imagining Brendon getting ready just a few doors down. Spencer had left him at quarter to seven, giving him a thumbs-up and wishing him luck. Ryan hadn’t even been able to reply, just nodded mutely. He chewed at the inside of his cheek and twisted his hands around in his lap, feeling sweaty and uncomfortable. It was like he was in high school again, going on his first date, but so much worse. This actually meant something to him, even if Brendon didn’t know quite how much it meant.

When he heard the knock at his door, a quiet knock, Ryan thought his heart might jump right up into his mouth at any moment. Hastily wiping his hands on his bed covers, he quickly glanced into the mirror and adjusted his hair slightly, leaning in to check his eyeliner. He looked okay, he guessed.

When he opened the door, he realised he must look a little more than _okay._ Brendon’s jaw slackened and his eyes widened slightly, “Ryan,” he practically breathed, “You look- Um, you look-.”

“Yeah,” Ryan interrupted, “You too.” Brendon’s outfit wasn’t dissimilar to his own. The only difference was that Brendon was wearing a black blazer instead of the leather jacket that Ryan had dug out of his wardrobe. Ryan took a deep breath, “You ready?” he asked.

Brendon seemed to take a moment to gather himself but he nodded and smiled, in a reassuring way, at Ryan.

Leaving the house, Jon and Spencer stuck their heads through from the living room and grinned at them, “Have fun!” Jon teased. Ryan and Brendon glared at him.

As they crossed the street, Brendon looked up at the sky at the clouds and smiled, “I hope it snows,” he said. Brendon loved snow; it changed the entire world around you, creating somewhere new that you’d never seen before. It was like magic.

Ryan shrugged, “As long as we’re back home first.”

Brendon laughed at him, “Ryan, we’re living like three blocks away.”

As soon as they got into the restaurant they were lead to their table, a small one in the corner of the room by the window. It was layed for two, facing each other and Ryan took the seat with his back to the wall, taking off his jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Brendon sat in the seat opposite.

“Chinese, huh?” Ryan smirked. Brendon just ducked his head and blushed, smiling, as a way of responding.

Brendon had been worried that it would be awkward, that they wouldn’t know what to say, where to look, but he found it easy. Conversation flowed, barely stopped to order food, and eat, and before they knew it, three hours had passed. Ryan seemed to be acting like this was a real date, and Brendon could only hope that he thought it was. Of course, Ryan had made it pretty clear where he stood on dating Brendon, so he wasn’t sure. Then again, from what Spencer had told him, Ryan was probably thinking of this as a date.

Brendon opened his mouth to say something about it when Ryan spoke, “Oh, look! It’s snowing!”

Brendon looked out the window and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was, “Get your jacket on; come on!”

As Ryan pulled on his jacket and stood up, Brendon almost ran over to the bar and asked for the bill. He paid quickly, not giving Ryan a chance to protest, and then he grabbed Ryan’s hand and dragged him from the restaurant and out into the street. Snowflakes whirled around them, falling fast, and Brendon stared up at the sky until he was dizzy and then, letting go of Ryan’s hand, began to spin round, arms outstretched. When he thought he was going to fall over he stopped and grinned hazily at Ryan. Brendon loved the snow.

Ryan’s laughter echoed through the empty street, everything dark except from the light that the streetlights gave out. Ryan’s eyes softened as Brendon turned to him and grinned. He thought his heart would burst.

Brendon ran across to him and grabbed his hand again, pulling him off the pavement and into the snow-covered street and once again Ryan felt himself being pulled headfirst into love.

Less than ten minutes they were sat on the edge of the pavement, leaning against each other, ignoring the wet coldness of the floor, both taking pleasure at being so close to the other.

“Ryan, can I ask you something?”

That was a familiar question, Ryan thought blandly, and he hoped that the follow up after this one went better than last time.

He smiled, “Yes.”

“Are you in love with me?”

The snow came down, landing in their hair, on their eyelashes, covering the floor around them, and Ryan smiled at Brendon and told him, “Yes, I think I am.” And for years to come he would swear that he’d never seen a smile as beautiful or as happy as Brendon’s was in that moment.

“Good.” Brendon replied, simply. “Can I ask you another question?”

“I have a feeling I know what that question’s going to be,” Ryan laughed, “And my answer is ‘yes’.”

“Good,” Brendon whispered, and leant in.

Sat there, under the streetlight, in front of the restaurant, they kissed. And, oh _God,_ it was so much better than the kisses that came before this. The kiss was short at first, their lips barely touched before they pulled back. Their eyes were almost closed, both looking at the other’s lips. Brendon breathed out, hot air hit Ryan’s face and he breathed in deeply, his lips gently grazing against Brendon’s, not quite a kiss. Brendon’s hand came up and lightly trailed across the back of Ryan’s neck, making him shiver and lean in further. And then their lips interlocked. Ryan’s eyes flashed up to look at Brendon, who had his eyes closed. Smiling into the kiss, Ryan shut his eyes again and brought his hands to Brendon’s waist, pulling the other man’s body close. Tongues pressed together, twisting, exchanging. Brendon reacted and his body lifted slightly, trying to get even closer to Ryan, without realising it. Ryan smiled again, his arms wrapping further around him.

Brendon was the one who pulled away, eventually.

Foreheads pressed together they gazed into each other’s eyes, “I really think I love you,” Ryan whispered.

Brendon pecked his lips, “Good,” he told Ryan, for the third time, “Because I know I love you.”

Brendon glanced away, up at the sky and his face was lit up with joy. Snow was still cascading around them, drifting down in a beautiful dance. He looked at Ryan and love was in his eyes.

“We should get home before we catch a cold,” Brendon said and Ryan agreed, allowing Brendon to pull him to his feet.

After a minute of walking, Ryan realised that his arm had found its way around Brendon’s shoulders, and Brendon’s was wrapped around his waist, playing with the edge of his jacket. Ryan couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing Brendon’s jawline as they walked, and Brendon laughed. He looked at Ryan the way he’d always looked at him: loving, caring, and true.

They carried on walking, feet falling in time, and a thought hit Ryan as he shivered, “I hate Spencer for not letting me wear a scarf.”

Brendon just laughed at him, and Ryan decided that he’d never get tired of that sound.

*

Spencer and Jon were in their rooms when the couple got back, probably on purpose to give them some privacy. However, Ryan and Brendon decided they didn’t need any and, with one last kiss, said goodnight, parting and going to their own rooms.

Ryan fell asleep that night, genuinely happy for the first time in forever, and Brendon couldn’t stop smiling. He stayed awake longer than he would normally, just thinking about everything that had happened. Eventually he drifted off to sleep, his mind catching on the mental picture of how beautiful Ryan had looked in the snow, barely centimetres away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how late these are; I'm out of the country and have little access to internet (this is the first time in two weeks actually) but there you go.   
> I'm sorry, again.   
> Hope you like it though!


	5. And That's Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last night’s eyeliner was smudged beneath his eyes and Brendon thought Ryan was beautiful.

The next morning, Ryan woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. He grinned into his pillow and rolled over, breathing in deeply. Carding a hand through his hair, he dragged himself out of bed and shuffled through to the kitchen. Boxer shorts and a scruffy shirt were his fashionable look. Leaning against the doorpost of the kitchen he smiled at the sight of Brendon flipping the bacon over, wiggling his hips in time to the music coming from the stereo, his voice overpowering that of the singer, improving the song by a million times in Ryan’s opinion. Brendon spotted him and grinned, dancing over-exaggeratedly. Ryan laughed softly.

Last night’s eyeliner was smudged beneath his eyes and Brendon thought Ryan was beautiful.

It was all a bit too domestic for Ryan, they were only just dating, but he decided to let it slide for now, he could discuss it with Brendon later. It would be hard to not let things get domestic when they were living together.

“Bacon?” Brendon asked, waving the spatula at Ryan.

Ryan smiled and moved into the kitchen, picking up a plate, “Yes, please,” he said.

“Jon and Spencer aren’t up yet,” Brendon informed him.

“I didn’t think anyone would be,” Ryan replied.

Ryan put his plate on the side and hopped up onto the counter before tucking into the bacon that Brendon had served up. They heard Jon moving around in his room next door, probably smelling the food, and they glanced at each other nervously. Logically, they knew that the others were okay with them dating, but that didn’t help to ease the sick feeling settling in their stomachs.

Brendon’s fingers tapped at the surface of the counter. Ryan focussed on eating. The music played on, without Brendon’s voice perfecting it and it felt like silence to Ryan.

Brendon tried to give Ryan a reassuring smile, but it looked a little too much like a grimace to do much good.

Finishing eating, Ryan placed the grease-covered plate on the side and leant back against the cupboard behind him. He wiggled a finger at Brendon, calling him over, with a coy smile. Brendon went willingly and stretched up on his tiptoes to kiss Ryan on the lips delicately. Ryan giggled, aware that Jon, or Spencer, could walk in at any moment. He didn’t mind; kissing Brendon made him feel relaxed. Brendon pulled back, “You taste like bacon.” He said, scrunching his nose up, pulling a face.

“Why is that a bad thing?” Ryan asked in bewilderment.

Brendon shrugged and laughed, “I guess it’s not.” He answered, kissing Ryan again.

“So that’s finally happened? Good.” They turned to see Jon coming in through the doorway, eyeing Brendon and Ryan and smiling at them.  Ryan blushed.

Brendon pulled away, asking Jon if he wanted bacon, before serving him some.

At some point Spencer woke up and joined them, forcing Brendon to make more bacon because Spencer felt hard done to having missed out. The stood around the kitchen, Ryan still sat up on the side, for longer than they’d ever before. Spencer and Jon showed some restraint for a while until Spencer cracked.

“Okay, just tell us what happened; I think I’m about to burst.” He blurted out. Jon lifted his head up, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Brendon shrugged, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bren…” Ryan chastised, giving him a look. In response Brendon stuck his tongue out at him.

Spencer just carried on looking at them, expectantly. Brendon raised his eyebrows at Ryan.

Ryan sighed, “Alright, so he took me to the Chinese-.”

“Oh, how _romantic.”_ Spencer sighed. Literally sighed. With a dreamy look in his eyes and everything.

The other three gave him a weird look, “You’re so fucking weird,” Brendon said to him.

“Literally,” Jon agreed, “What are you? A twelve year old girl?”

Ryan laughed, and continued to recount what had happened that night. Brendon spent the entire time watching Ryan fondly and when Ryan finished and looked across at Brendon, he couldn’t stop himself, “I love you, Ryan,” he told him.

Ryan’s smile lit up his face.

Jon retched; Spencer sighed.

*

A couple of hours later that day Brendon and Ryan were walking down the street, if only to get away from Spencer’s weirdness for a while. Their hands found each other, linking, forming a bond between them. Ryan glanced at Brendon, shyly, when this happened and bit his lip trying not to laugh at the sight of Brendon blushing. He looked back at the road ahead as they continued to walk.

Walking past the café where they started to feel like normal again, Brendon’s walk developed a lilt to it, almost like he was on the verge of skipping off down the street, Ryan in tow. Ryan kept him grounded, however, and soon enough they found their way into a small restaurant for lunch.

Ryan wanted to sit outside but Brendon refused flatly, saying that it was way too cold to eat outside and that he actually wanted to _enjoy_ his meal, _thank you very much._ Ryan rolled his eyes outwardly, but he did agree really. Four days till Christmas.

And they did enjoy their meal. It was the aftermath of the meal that they didn’t enjoy.

Brendon sat opposite Ryan at their table while they ate. They didn’t touch, not even their feet, for the whole meal but when they finished, and sat there drinking coffee, Brendon put his hand out on the table, and Ryan took it. Fingers intertwining across the table, they smiled at each other.

Ryan had never been into PDA, especially with male partners, and he remembered why barely a minute later.

There was an older couple sat a few tables away from them who kept looking over at them, a disgusted look mirrored on both of their faces. Ryan didn’t notice at first, too caught up in the conversation that he and Brendon were having, and the feel of Brendon’s hand in his. Brendon, on the other hand, noticed immediately but he did his best to ignore it, too used to that kind of behaviour from assholes. He didn’t react until Ryan noticed and became visibly upset about it.

Ryan pulled his hand away from Brendon’s and clasped his hands together in his lap, staring down at the table.

The woman at the other table _tsk_ ed and Brendon saw red. “Do you mind?” he asked loudly, turning to face the woman directly, eyebrow raised.

Her face grew closed and icy, “You two are _disgusting._ ” She told Brendon, throwing an extra glare across at Ryan, who slid down into his chair, trying to pretend that he didn’t exist. “How dare you shove your… ‘ _lifestyle’_ in normal people’s faces? If you must do it, _keep it in private_.” She was practically hissing the words at Brendon by the end. Her husband was nodding in agreement and Brendon felt sick at the ignorance of it all. He glanced at Ryan, who looked like he was going to cry, and his jaw tightened.

He glared back at the woman, “I’m just trying to enjoy my day with my _boyfriend,”_ Brendon told her, fighting to keep his voice low, “and if you have a problem with that, you can always leave.” Ryan’s eyes had jumped up when Brendon called him his boyfriend, but he was back to staring at his hands.

The woman stood up, telling her husband to stay there, and stalked across to the bar.

Brendon looked at Ryan, “You alright?” He asked and his voice was hushed. Ryan tried to nod but ended up shaking his head instead. Brendon wanted to reach out to Ryan; to try and comfort him, but he knew that that wasn’t a good idea right then.

A moment later, the woman reappeared, looking all too please with herself, an important looking man behind her. “Excuse me, Sir?” The man said, stepping round the woman, with a disapproving look on his face. “I’m going to have to ask you and your… _friend_ to leave. You are disturbing my other customers.”

Brendon couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “ _I’m_ disturbing them?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes.” The man replied, haughtily.

Brendon opened his mouth to reply indignantly but Ryan interrupted him in a small voice, “Brendon, let’s just go.” Brendon looked over at Ryan. Ryan was watching Brendon; his expression was pleading. “Please,” Ryan whispered, “let’s go home.”

Brendon’s insides crumpled, “Alright, Ry.” He replied. With a last look at the woman and the manager, Brendon stood up and moved to take Ryan’s hand as they left the building. Once outside, Ryan pulled his hand away. They didn’t talk for the entire walk back to their house.

*

Brendon didn’t see Ryan for the rest of the day after that incident. Ryan didn’t even leave his room for dinner that night.

Brendon sat on the sofa, watching the television but not really taking anything in. He couldn’t stop thinking about that woman in the restaurant and how easily Ryan had been damaged by her words. How could he prove to Ryan that it didn’t matter what other people thought? Brendon wasn’t hurt too badly because he knew that what they had was something worth fighting for but it seemed that Ryan couldn’t see that.

Making up his mind, Brendon left the room, leaving the TV still playing some crappy sitcom, and headed for the practice room. The piano stood at the side of the room, open, ready to play. Brendon smiled softly in the coolness of the room and made his way over.

Sitting on the piano stool, he felt the calmness settle over him and his hands feel into place on the keys. He took a deep breath before pressing down, beginning to play, the notes sounding empty, now that he was playing to just himself. He could only hope that it would be different with Ryan there; things usually were.

It was a song that was originally played on the guitar, but Brendon felt that that wasn’t enough. Ryan was shaken, he could tell. So Brendon didn’t sleep that night, learning the song so well he could play it backwards, and when Ryan finally came out of his bedroom, at four am, giving up the pretence of sleeping, Brendon sang to him, his voice filling the air soothingly. Ryan cried, sat on the floor next to Brendon’s seat. His body shook, pathetically, as he listened to the music.

_For you, there'll be no crying_

_For you, the sun will be shining_

Brendon’s voice wasn’t as strong as it usually was; Ryan made him feel weak but also stronger. It was the kind of weakness you need in your life.

_‘Cause I feel that when I'm with you_

_It's alright_

_I know it’s right_

It was a simple song, but Brendon chose it for a reason. It showed Ryan how he felt and, he hoped, told Ryan that no matter what happened they were right together. Brendon would always be there for him.

_And I love you, I love you, I love you_

_Like never before_

Ryan looked up at Brendon as he finished playing, face covered in tears, “I’m so sorry, Bren,” his voice cracked.

Brendon looked down at the man he loved and slipped off the piano stool, sitting down next to Ryan and taking his hands in his, “It’s going to be alright, Ry.” He told him. “I’m sorry about those assholes.”

Ryan didn’t reply for a long time, when he did his voice was slightly stronger, “Play me something else?” He asked Brendon, hesitantly.

Brendon smiled gently; that he could do. “Sure.”

As Brendon got to his feet he knew what to play Ryan. He’d heard it on the stereo just that morning, before Ryan had woken up. This time he didn’t play the piano. Instead he picked up his guitar and held it, sat facing Ryan on the piano stool. His fingers found the chords and he strummed the guitar. Ryan laughed softly as he realised what Brendon was playing to him.

_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road_

_Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go_

By the time Brendon had finished the song, Ryan had joined in singing, harmonising with Brendon’s voice. Brendon loved the way they sounded when they sang together; Ryan had an unusual voice but it matched his beautifully. He wondered idly why they didn’t sing together more often.

_It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right_

_I hope you had the time of your life_

They fell asleep curled up on the floor together, a few hours later, Ryan’s face still streaked with tears and when they woke up, Ryan curled his fingers around Brendon’s and gave him a shaky smile. Brendon’s eyes softened, his mind still sleepy, and he gently kissed Ryan.

He twisted his feet with Ryan’s and pressed their foreheads together, “I know that you’re still not sure about any of this,” Brendon started softly. Ryan didn’t even bother to lie. “And that’s okay, Ry.”

Ryan frowned slightly.

“Do you hear me?” Brendon asked, “It’s all okay.”

“I hear you,” Ryan replied, voice croaky from crying and sleeping.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back in my homeland and it's already rained - good to know things don't change. Anyway, this chapter is a few hours late; I was at a wedding! So, my feet are sore and tired from dancing, and my head hurts a little from the music and the drink, but it was fun fun fun. And here is the new chapter.   
> I hope you like it.  
> The next chapter will be up next Sunday because I'm off on holiday again for a week on monday and I won't be back till then. Sorry!  
> Leave a review if you want, I just hope you like it. :)


	6. Dance In The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon’s kisses were intoxicating, and Ryan’s mind frivolously thought how could he not be drunk?

Christmas Eve rocked around and even Ryan was starting to get excited. Their house smelled deliciously like mince pies and Christmas pudding and it looked like _Santa’s fucking Grotto_ as Brendon would put it. It was all a bit overdone but, due to their excitement, that was overlooked. It had been years since Brendon had looked forward to Christmas like this; he suspected it came from now living with his three best friends. Everything was more fun like that. He danced into the living room, where Ryan and Jon were hanging up some last minute decorations on the tree, and grabbed Ryan round the waist and whirled him round, across the room. Ryan went willingly, laughing, and clinging to Brendon so that he wouldn’t fall over. Jon watched them for a moment before sighing and turning back to his section of the tree. His friends were ridiculous.

Christmas music was playing almost constantly in their house and it was playing right now, _All I Want For Christmas Is You,_ and Brendon was singing along at the top of his voice, serenading Ryan as he danced with him, he broke off from singing and dancing with a laugh, “You’re a terrible dancer, George Ryan Ross the Third.” He said with a teasing tone in his voice as he stood there, still holding Ryan close by his waist.

“Don’t you dare full name _me,_ Brendon _Boyd_ Urie,” Ryan replied, raising his eyebrow at Brendon, he wasn’t going to lose this one, not when Brendon had a middle name like _that._

“Touché,” Brendon laughed. “But seriously, you are a terribledancer.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, “I know. It’s my one flaw.” He grinned. “And let me tell you what a _hardship_ it has brought, all these years of not being able to dancehave _really hindered_ how fully I can live my life.”

Brendon had to resist rolling his eyes right back at Ryan for that sarcasm, “Alright, whatever. I’m just saying you should probably learn.”

Ryan shook his head, laughing and stepped out of Brendon’s embrace, going back over to Jon. Brendon watched him walk away, already planning how he could force Ryan to learn to dance.

Spencer joined them, not long later, with some freshly made cookies – once again confirming to the band that he was a twelve year old girl (“ _Fuck you all, yes I like to bake and hear about romance, fight me”)._ As much as they teased him, they really were damn fine cookies, and they ate them with a lot of enthusiasm. Spencer looked pleased.

After asking if they were putting the presents under the tree or keeping them out of harm’s way till the morning, Ryan disappeared off to go and get his for the others.

Jon pinched his lips together, trying not to comment, but couldn’t help himself, “You guys are sickly cute.” He said, shaking his head and not looking at Brendon.

Brendon sighed, “I knew I couldn’t get away with this for long.”

Spencer laughed, “You gonna teach him to dance, Brenny-babe?” he asked, his voice teasing.

“Fuck you, you weren’t even in the room!” Brendon cried. Spencer laughed, telling him that his voice carries, and Brendon sighed in frustration. “You don’t give Ryan this kinda crap.”

Jon sighed, pretending to be remorseful, then, “Yeah,” he said, “That’s because we _like_ Ryan.”

“I didn’t know you cared, Jon.” Ryan said dryly from the doorway, where he was stood, arms filled with presents, leaning against the doorpost. “You should have said something; I’d have probably chosen you over Brendon.”

Brendon spluttered indignantly until Ryan walked over to kiss him on the cheek, apologising, and to put his presents under the now decorated tree, “Of course I’d choose you.” Ryan told him.

“Alright, Ash, that’s enough choosing going on.” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t!” he added sharply, as Brendon and Spencer looked at each other quickly, already opening their mouths, about to burst into the Pokémon theme song. “Nerds.” He said.

Brendon just laughed.

Ryan tried to get them to have a band practice but the others protested, insisting that they should have a break, it being Christmas and all, and Ryan conceded. Brendon kissed him, in thanks, and Ryan smiled against Brendon’s lips, his arms wrapping around Brendon’s neck. Jon pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “This is exactly what I’m talking about.” He muttered.

*

It was late in the evening; Jon and Spencer were sat at the kitchen table, boisterously playing a game of bullshit, making a lot of noise.

Brendon stood in front of Ryan in the front room, one hand held out to him. Ryan looked up at Brendon from his seat on the sofa, unimpressed, “I’m not dancing with you, Brendon.”

Brendon just stared at him expectantly, until, sighing heavily, Ryan took Brendon’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, muttering under his breath that he hated him. “I love you too,” Brendon replied, making Ryan laugh, reluctantly.

Brendon pulled Ryan in close and Ryan blushed, involuntarily. Brendon laughed at him. “Put your hand on my waist,” he said, smiling. Ryan followed his command; his hand fit perfectly in place. His other hand held Brendon’s tightly. It felt safe.

“What now?” Ryan whispered.

“Follow my feet; don’t take your eyes off my face.” Brendon told him. There was no music; no rhythm to fit but their own, and Brendon slowly stepped back with one foot. Ryan stumbled after him, his feet nowhere near as certain as Brendon’s.

As they attempted to dance, Ryan blushed again, almost tripping over, “I can’t believe you’re teaching me to ballroom dance,” he giggled, nervously.

Brendon rolled his eyes at him, leading them in a slow hesitant circle. “It’s called a waltz, and it’s a good skill to have,” he told him.

“Yeah, if you’re _you,”_ Ryan laughed back, his eyes shining as they stared into Brendon’s. As much as he’d protested, he was having a good time, talking to Brendon.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brendon asked indignantly, looking offended.

“Shut up, you know what I mean.” Ryan rolled his eyes.

“You’re doing well, if that counts for anything.” Brendon complimented him, honestly.

Ryan laughed, “Shut up, no I’m not.” He said, dismissively.

Brendon smiled, “Since we’ve been talking, yes, you really are.”

As Ryan had been distracted they’d successfully moved around the room, and their dancing had been almost graceful. Shocked, Ryan tripped over Brendon’s foot, tripping Brendon too, and they went crashing into the wall. Brendon swore as they hit the wall, flinching away; Ryan took most of the impact. Brendon managed to stay on his feet as Ryan slid onto the floor, cursing.

Ryan stared up at Brendon, “That was your fault.” He said through gritted teeth.

And then Brendon couldn’t stop laughing. Throwing his head back he laughed loudly, body shaking. Ryan glared up at him, only making him laugh more. Eventually he leant against the wall and slid down so that he was sitting next to Ryan, still laughing. Ryan was biting his lip, trying not to laugh too, keeping up his irritated persona determinedly, but Brendon had the type of laugh that was contagious; the type of smile that you couldn’t see without smiling too, and soon enough Ryan was laughing too.

Ryan looked at his friend, smiling brightly, “C’mon,” he said, pulling himself to his feet, “Let’s have another go.”

This time Brendon put on music, allowing the stereo to play through, on a station that just played music. They improvised to whatever came on, from jazz to rock, through to hip-hop and classical, it didn’t matter. Brendon felt warm in his arms when they danced and Ryan didn’t care that he hated dancing; didn’t care that he hadn’t wanted to dance in the first place; didn’t care.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, Brendon’s forehead rested on Ryan’s shoulder, his hair brushing against Ryan’s jawline, tickling him. Ryan breathed out slowly, happy. The music was quiet now, with a spring in it, and Ryan didn’t ever want to let go of Brendon and he knew Brendon felt the same. “Do you know this song?” Ryan murmured in Brendon’s ear.

“Nope,” Brendon replied, not really sure if he cared. He was just happy to be holding Ryan- or, more, to be held by Ryan.

“We should find out; I like it.” Ryan replied, softly.

“It could be ‘our song’,” Brendon chuckled.

Ryan knocked against Brendon slightly, “You don’t have to be so condescending.” He said sternly.

“No, you’re right, it’s a nice song.” Brendon admitted. “I recognise it but I don’t know what it is.”

He felt Ryan nod in agreement against him.

The swayed side to side in time to the music, bodies pressed together, arms holding the other close, refusing to be parted, and they’d never felt so close or peaceful. Brendon’s heart beat lazily, his breathing slowing down, his body becoming languid and relaxed he let himself fall into Ryan’s embrace. Ryan supported him, holding Brendon tightly, allowing himself to be like this with someone was almost new to him and it felt good. Brendon was also getting used to relying on someone other than himself, having been single for most of his life, and without his parents for a good portion too; he wasn’t used to having someone that he felt he could trust with anything. Ryan had been his best friend for years, and now he could tell Ryan everything he felt; could show him just how much he cared without fear of being pushed away. It was a weird thought to have, but it felt so right. “I love you,” Brendon whispered into Ryan’s shoulder. He felt Ryan’s smile as Ryan pressed his lips into Brendon’s hair. Their feet barely moved, swaying side to side.

They were caught off guard when the music changed, an up-beat pop song taking its place, obnoxiously loud after the quiet of the last song, and Brendon laughed as he stepped back a little, looking up at Ryan’s startled expression. Taking it in his stride, Brendon began to dance, twisting up and down, grabbing Ryan’s hand and trying to make him dance with him again. Ryan laughed, “I can’t dance like you, Bren,” he tried to tell him, as Brendon began to dance up against him, only half-heartedly protesting.

“You could try?” Brendon replied, as though it were obvious. Ryan chuckled, his voice low, and attempted to copy Brendon’s moves. Soon they were practically grinding against each other; Brendon’s face alight with laughter, Ryan’s barely hiding his embarrassment. “Stop taking this so seriously,” Brendon ordered, laughing at Ryan. Ryan laughed back, and Brendon’s stomach flipped at how happy Ryan looked. “You should smile all the time,” Brendon told him. Ryan buried his face in his hands, making Brendon laugh again. “You get embarrassed every time I compliment you.”

“Well, maybe you should stop then,” Ryan said, glancing up at Brendon who was dancing up against him, arms sliding gently down Ryan’s waist. “You’re such a slutty dancer, Bren,” Ryan chuckled, dancing too.

“You should see yourself when I dance like this,” Brendon grinned back. Ryan winked.

“You’re kind of amazing,” Ryan said to Brendon, leaning in to kiss Brendon on the nose.

“BULLSHIT!” Jon’s voice exploded from the kitchen.

“Keep it down in there!” Brendon shouted through, “Ryan’s being nice to me!”

“Oh, sorry, I was just calling bullshit on what Ryan was saying to you!” Jon yelled back, making Ryan chortle and Brendon roll his eyes.

Their foreheads pressed together, naturally, and they stared into each other’s eyes, before Brendon leaned up and pressed their lips together. Ryan’s body reacted before his mind did and his arms curled around Brendon. Brendon held him tightly, and Ryan’s legs lifted, wrapping around Brendon’s waist. Brendon held him against his body. Lips joined together, Brendon walked backwards towards the sofa, hardly concentrated on not falling over. Feeling his way, his feet found the base of the sofa and he let himself fall backwards, so Ryan was sitting on top of him, his hands moving to twist in Brendon’s hair, getting tangled. Brendon’s breath came out in sharp bursts, sounding like a whine occasionally. Ryan giggled, sounding drunk, against Brendon. Brendon’s kisses were intoxicating, and Ryan’s mind frivolously thought _how could he not be drunk?_

Brendon’s body was lifting up, to meet Ryan’s, trying to get as little space between them as possible, and Ryan echoed him impulsively. Their chests; their legs; their arms; their lips. All were pressed together. Brendon wished he could find the words to tell Ryan how he was making him feel, but there simply weren’t the words in existence to describe it, so he conveyed it through his body.

The things Ryan could do with his tongue should be made illegal, or made only for him, Brendon thought.

A while later (minutes? hours? days? Brendon didn’t know) Ryan pulled away, and curled up against Brendon, rolling over to lie out on the sofa. Brendon pulled his legs up and twined them with Ryan’s.

They fell asleep there, not knowing what time it was or if Jon and Spencer were still up or even if they would ever wake up again. All Brendon knew was that he loved Ryan, and all Ryan knew was that he’d never felt this happy in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a day late - I'm sorry, I think I told you it would be.  
> But this is it! From now on i'm going nowhere!! So the rest of the chapters will be on time unless there are unforeseen disasters!!   
> Let me know what you think so far - I live off your comments (good and bad alike)


	7. Call It Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their fingers curled around each other’s and Ryan led Brendon into the living room. Brendon followed; Brendon would follow Ryan anywhere.

It was still dark when they woke up, the sun hadn’t risen yet in the way that it does during the winter. Their limbs were sore from sleeping on the sofa all night and their hair was scruffy. Ryan had creases in his face from where he’d slept on Brendon’s shirt. Brendon woke first, stretching automatically without thinking about trying to not wake Ryan. Ryan woke sleepily, staring down at Brendon in confusion before comprehension dawned on his face and he broke into a smile. His eyelids were heavy and he was pretty sure he looked a mess, but he was happy. Snuggling down into the sofa, into Brendon, Ryan closed his eyes again. Brendon was warm and soft while the room was cold, and Ryan wasn’t ready to wake up yet. Brendon wasn’t either and, kissing Ryan delicately on the top of his head, he curled up too and let his eyes fall closed. Their hands found each other, twisting round and holding on. “Happy Christmas, Ry.” Brendon whispered into the cold, quiet air of the room. Ryan smiled back, peeking through his lashes, and repeated the phrase back to him. A warm, twisting feeling settled in Brendon’s stomach; waking up next to Ryan was something that he knew he wanted to do every day for the rest of forever. Neither of them went back to sleep, but they didn’t talk either, they just lay there, sometimes with their eyes closed and sometimes gazing at each other, holding hands, feet touching, blissfully.

A couple of hours later, they did get up, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and stretching to crack their joints. They figured that Jon and Spencer would be up soon, so they moved to the kitchen, hoping to get a while to themselves, to make coffee.

While the kettle boiled, Ryan pinned Brendon up against the counter and kissed him lazily. His hands traced the faint lines of muscle in Brendon’s back, under his shirt, his tongue exploring the inside of Brendon’s mouth. Brendon’s hands rested lightly on Ryan’s shoulders, thumbs rubbing against the fabric mindlessly.

Brendon pulled back and his eyes were glazed over, he was smiling. Ryan smiled back; running his hands over Brendon’s back, not letting him step away too soon. When the kettle _ding_ ed, Ryan let Brendon move away, pulling himself up on to the counter, just like he had the morning after their date.

So much had changed in that small amount of time and sitting there on the counter made him realise just how fast he and Brendon were moving. They’d gone right past the honeymoon phase, and were already into the married-couple phase. He felt like he was on a roller-coaster, the moment when it goes over the top and down a steep descent too abruptly and your stomach gets left behind. He was scared. He would admit that. Maybe not to Brendon, but to himself; after all, there was a reason he never told Brendon that he loved him. There was that night outside the Chinese, when emotions had been running high, and he’d said that he thought he loved him, but after that, he’d purposely tried to avoid it. Ryan was fairly sure that Brendon hadn’t noticed what he was doing, but then, maybe Brendon just didn’t want to bring it up.

Watching Brendon make coffee for them both, Ryan sat back against the counter and tried to work out his thoughts. Brendon passed him a light blue mug, filled almost to the brim with coffee, and Ryan accepted it gratefully. Brendon stood on his tiptoes and kissed Ryan’s lips and he tasted like coffee. Then he left the room, telling Ryan that he was just going to go get changed.

Slipping off the counter, Ryan switched on the stereo, letting the music flood the room, drowning out any thoughts. Ryan recognised the song and began to sing along, his voice low and smooth despite its lack of use.

_When my head is strong, but my heart is weak_

_I’m full of hurricanes, and uncertainty_

His voice dropped out, allowing the singer to sing, and he sipped at his coffee, the words of the song sinking in.

_You make it real for me_

Brendon came back a moment later, wearing fresh jeans and a clean shirt, no makeup on. His hair was still a mess, un-brushed and un-washed. Ryan smiled from the moment he walked in the door.

Abandoning his coffee, he almost ran across the room, just to reclaim Brendon’s mouth as his own. Brendon laughed, drawing Ryan in by his waist, kissing his jawline carefully, “I love Christmas,” Brendon breathed into Ryan’s skin, making him laugh, “And I love _you_ ,” Brendon added, running a trail of kisses down his neck.

Ryan picked up Brendon’s chin, lifting his head so that their eyes were level, and he kissed Brendon firmly, trying to put everything that he couldn’t say yet into the kiss.

When Brendon pulled away his eyes were slightly dimmer, not quite looking at Ryan quite as happily as he had before, but he didn’t say anything, so Ryan didn’t either. Brendon smiled, and it felt tight and wrong on his face. He knew that Ryan was purposefully not saying ‘I love you’ to him. Of course he knew. He also knew that it hurt a lot, especially when Brendon would say it so often; it gave Ryan so many opportunities to say it back.

He stepped back, holding out his hand for Ryan to take, “C’mon,” he said, softly, “Let’s go wait for the others in the front room.”

Ryan didn’t take his hand, “Let me just go get changed, first.”

Brendon nodded, his eyes not quite meeting Ryan’s, and he turned, leaving Ryan alone in the kitchen.

*

Just like that, Brendon’s good mood had dropped out of him.

He was watching Ryan laugh, standing at Jon’s shoulder and looking down at him while he played the guitar. Brendon wasn’t sure what was funny; he hadn’t been paying enough attention to Jon’s involvement in the moment. His stomach was empty, and he stared at Ryan. Spencer kept giving him worried looks until, eventually, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Standing up, Spencer grabbed Brendon and dragged him into the kitchen, raising an eyebrow and demanding, “ _What_?”

“What?” Brendon echoed, confused.

“What is up with you and Ryan?” Spencer clarified, and Brendon sighed, so not wanting to get into this right now.

“He still hasn’t told me he loves me,” Brendon admitted miserably. Spencer’s eyes widened in shock, whatever he’d expected Brendon to say, that wasn’t it. Then he shook his head in wonder at how dumb his friend was.

Brendon opened his mouth to say something more but Spencer interrupted him, “To you.” He said.

“What?” Brendon was confused.

Spencer sighed, “He still hasn’t told _you_ that he loves you. He told me, remember?”

Brendon frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Brendon, you’ve only been dating – and I use that term loosely – for less than a week.” Spencer could not believe that Brendon was doing this today of all days, “Give him time; he will tell you when he’s sure.” Brendon bit his lip, about to argue, “No, Brendon,” Spencer interrupted firmly, “Do not push him on this, okay?”

Brendon sighed, “Okay.”

With a last concerned look, Spencer moved past Brendon and went back into the living room.

Brendon watched him go, wondering if maybe he’d overreacted. Sighing, he leant against to table, letting his head drop down. He lifted his head sharply when he heard Ryan’s voice, calling his name, “Yeah?” He called back, looking at the door where Ryan would come through, and sure enough, Ryan appeared round the corner a second later, his face lighting up in a smile the moment he saw Brendon. Brendon’s heart leapt. “We’re opening presents, come on,” Ryan smiled at him. He held his hand out to Brendon, just as Brendon had done that morning in the kitchen. Brendon didn’t hesitate, stepping forwards and taking Ryan’s hand. Ryan’s palm was smooth against his, and his hand was cold, but nicely so. Their fingers curled around each other’s and Ryan led Brendon into the living room. Brendon followed; Brendon would follow Ryan anywhere.

The presents were ridiculous. They’d decided from the start that they wouldn’t say who each present was from, to spare embarrassment if anything, so the real fun was trying to work out who it might have been. They spent the rest of the morning, and most of the afternoon, messing with the gifts they had received, and, in some circumstances, swapping presents. No one was offended by that; they all liked similar things so it didn’t really matter much whose gift went to who.

Later that night, Jon and Spencer were sat on the floor in front of the tree, eating sweets – the hardboiled kind, Jon had got a box of them – and attempting to play cards. It wasn’t going well for them because they both knew different rules, they argued about almost every move that one of them made. That moment they were arguing about how many cards the other had to pick up if you played a king on an ace.

Brendon’s feet were cold, pressed against Ryan’s while they sat on the sofa, and Ryan pulled a face at him, “Do you have to put your feet on me?”

Jon and Spencer’s argument seemed to increase in volume, and Spencer threw a boiled sweet at Jon’s head. Jon cursed loudly and threw a handful of cards back at him.

Brendon chuckled, working his way into Ryan’s arms, “Yes, I absolutely do,” he told him, smiling up at him, his eyes shining with happiness.

They sat and watched their friends bicker for a while, arms around each other, drawing out as much warmth as they could.

Brendon hummed happily, a drawn out sigh, and his fingers trailed across Ryan’s stomach.

“Do you remember our first kiss?” Ryan asked, letting Brendon’s fingers move underneath his shirt.

Brendon stilled, “It’s not exactly what I’d call a happy memory,” Brendon reminded Ryan, looking at him in confusion; wondering why he would bring that up now.

Ryan laughed quietly, “Yes, I guess not. But if it wasn’t for that, we wouldn’t be here now.”

Brendon didn’t think through what he said next before he said it, talking on impulse, “Sometimes, I don’t think we are.” Brendon whispered.

Ryan froze in his action of smoothing Brendon’s hair down, his hand dropped to his side, “What does that mean?”

Brendon didn’t meet his gaze, already wishing he could retract his statement “Nothing,” he said hurriedly, leaning in and resting his head on Ryan’s chest to hide his face.

Ryan pulled away, refusing to let this go, making Brendon sit up, “It didn’t sound like nothing.” Ryan said flatly, looking at Brendon. Brendon pinched his lips together, forming a hard line. “Do we have something to fight about, Brendon?” Ryan asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No.” Brendon replied, trying to reassure Ryan but doing a terrible job of it, “Forget it.”

Ryan stood up, slowly and deliberately turning to face Brendon, “If you have something to say, then say it.” Brendon felt small under Ryan’s heavy gaze.

Jon and Spencer had stopped arguing, silence falling over the room. Ryan pinched his lips together, staring at Brendon expectantly. Brendon’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, “Ry, I didn’t mean-.”

“Didn’t mean _what,_ Brendon?” Ryan practically spat the words, he knew exactly what Brendon had meant but he just couldn’t believe that Brendon would have the nerve to bring it up as an issue.

“I didn’t mean anything!” Brendon got to his feet, almost shouting, and his words were tight and angry.

Jon and Spencer looked at each other, worried, wondering if they should intercede but too scared to get involved in the ‘first argument’.

“Oh yes, you did.” Ryan replied, his tone venomous.

“Well, if I did, it’s _your_ fault.” Brendon replied, letting his anger take over.

Spencer breathed in sharply; shocked that Brendon would say something like that, “Brendon-,” he said, trying to stop the argument, too late.

“Stay out of this, Spencer.” Ryan growled, not taking his eyes off Brendon. “Go on,” Ryan said to Brendon, “How is this _my_ fault?”

Brendon shook his head, desperately, “That’s not- I didn’t mean- I shouldn’t have said anything!”

That only seemed to make Ryan more angry and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped, becoming quiet, sounding dangerous, “This is because I haven’t said ‘ _I love you’_ , isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. Brendon tried to move forwards, towards Ryan, but Ryan stepped backwards, away from him.

Brendon’s face closed off, his breathing slowed down and his eyes were wide, “No,” he whispered, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said-,”

“Yeah,” Ryan interrupted, his eyes held no emotion, and neither did his voice when he spoke, “You already said that.” Brendon had never seen Ryan angry like this and he felt his insides constrict at the fact that he was the cause of this anger, he wished with everything he had that he hadn’t said anything; it had been going so well. “You know, Brendon,” Ryan started, and Brendon didn’t want to hear what he was going to say next, “I knew that you were petty, but this is too much, even for you.”

Brendon felt his stomach fall away, “Ry-,”

“Don’t talk.” Ryan said over him. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say to me, right now.”

Brendon wanted to apologise, wanted to try an explain himself, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. An uncomfortable quiet settled over the room, muffling all thoughts but making Brendon’s heart beating sound unbearably loud in his ears. His lip trembled, “Ry, please,” he tried.

“I can’t believe you would try to hold this against me,” Ryan whispered, and his voice sounded weak for the first time in their argument.

Spencer got to his feet to try and help, perhaps. He stood there, helplessly, as Ryan and Brendon stared at each other. Ryan sighed, “I can’t believe you, Brendon,” he said, and he looked like he was about to cry.

Brendon opened his mouth to speak and Ryan fled. He turned on his heel and left the room, without another word, eyes swimming with tears.

Spencer looked at Brendon, and Brendon couldn’t take the disappointment in his eyes, “I told you not to push this, Brendon.”

Spencer turned and followed Ryan out of the room, leaving Brendon standing there, jaw slack, wishing he’d never opened his Goddamn mouth.

Jon just looked at the ground.

*

“Ryan- Ryan, wait-,” Spencer called, trying to catch up with his friend. Ryan reached his room and swung the door open, going in quickly and shutting the door behind him. Ryan slid down onto the floor and sat, leaning against the door, locking Spencer out. Catching up, Spencer stood outside his room, “Ryan, please, talk to me.” He said through the wood.

“I’m not opening the door,” Ryan said, his voice catching slightly.

Spencer sighed, “I’m not asking you to, just talk to me.”

Ryan didn’t reply for a long time, and Spencer sat down on the floor, crossing his legs and leaning his forehead up against the wooden door. Time stretched between their words and the silence seemed endless. When Ryan did finally reply, what he said broke Spencer’s heart:

“How doesn’t he know that I love him?”

Spencer didn’t have the words to reply, couldn’t think of a way to make this hurt less for Ryan.

When Spencer didn’t reply, Ryan continued to talk, his voice sounded quiet, distant, and small, “I can’t tell him, Spence, I just can’t. I need him to _know_ because I can’t say it out loud.”

Ryan broke off, his words getting stuck in his throat, and Spencer took over.

“You say that you can’t say it out loud, but Ryan, you just did.”

Ryan let out a laugh that was more like a sob. “I can tell _you._ I can always tell _you_ , Spencer.” He said, “It’s different.”

Spencer smiled, sadly. A thought struck him and he lifted his head, looking at the door where he thought Ryan was, “Well, why don’t you sing it to him?”

Ryan’s silence was filled with thought. Eventually he replied, “I could do that,” in a small voice.

A long while later, when everyone had gone to bed, Ryan snuck out of his room to the practice room where he got out his guitar, a pen, and a pile of papers. And then he began to write.

The words flowed out of him, sometimes it was easy, other times they got stuck somewhere in between his mind and the paper. Some words didn’t fit; other’s fit like they had been created with the intention of being in these lyrics.

_When the moon fell in love with the sun_

This he could do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.  
> Keep in mind that this isn't even that angsty yet.  
> Okay I'm not sure how that's supposed to help, actually.


	8. He Fell In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His fingers strummed the strings hard, too hard, and it hurt, but he’d take the pain gladly if this worked out.

Ryan stared at his hands, leaning against the wall at an odd angle, one hand clutching the sheet of paper with the final song on it. He was tired and he was emotionally exhausted. Everything he had – _everything_ – he had thrown into this song.

It was the time of year that Ryan usually adored. The days between the day after Christmas and New Years were always quiet. For two weeks, the world just stopped. Ryan called them the “dead days”. This year, he couldn’t enjoy it, however. Not until he’d sung the song to Brendon.

It took him three days to work up the courage.

Swallowing his fear, Ryan walked up to Brendon. His hands were shaking, so he shoved them into his pockets. “Hi, Brendon.” He said. Brendon’s head lifted from the mug of coffee he was holding, his eyes were concerned and maybe a little bit hopeful. Brendon looked like he hadn’t slept properly in days; he probably hadn’t. At any rate, Ryan suspected that he looked the same. Brendon said “Hi” back, quietly, as if he was scared that Ryan would run away if he spoke loudly. Ryan smiled sadly and Brendon smiled back, tentatively. “I’ve got something for you,” Ryan said, offering his hand to Brendon, asking, non-verbally, if he would take it. He did.

Hand-in-hand, they walked to the practice room, and their hearts were in their mouths the entire time, both as nervous and scared as the other. Their home was quiet, God knows where Jon and Spencer were, and Ryan was irrationally scared that Brendon could hear how fast his heart was racing, or how heavy his breathing was.

When they got to the practice room, Brendon was looking curious, and, when Ryan told him to sit down, he asked, “Are you going to sing to me?”

Ryan blushed and nodded, not trusting himself to talk out loud just yet. He moved to pick up his guitar before pulling up a chair and sitting opposite Brendon. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and his limbs felt clumsy. “Don’t say anything till I’ve finished.” Ryan requested of Brendon, and Brendon nodded, silently.

The first few chords sounded wrong, too loud in the dead silence of the room, but as Ryan’s voice joined them, everything felt right. Ryan couldn’t remember being this nervous in his entire life, not even when they performed as a band for the first time in front of a crowd that was more than a small, dingy, backroom cluster. Ryan wasn’t Brendon, he found it hard to be relaxed on stage, but that was nothing, _nothing_ , compared to how he felt right then.

_When the moon fell in love with the sun_

_All was golden in the sky_

_All was golden when the day met the night_

Brendon’s face was soft, staring at Ryan in wonder. Ryan had to close his eyes, unable to look at Brendon and sing at the same time. His fingers strummed the strings hard, too hard, and it hurt, but he’d take the pain gladly if this worked out.

Brendon was smiling, Ryan knew because he’d sneaked a look through his lashes, and it gave him confidence.

_So he said, "That's okay_

_As long as you can make a promise_

_Not to break my little heart_

_Or leave me all alone in the summer."_

Ryan sang those lines and he put as much as he could into them because he really meant them. Not necessarily from his point of view, he thought that maybe he was talking from Brendon’s perspective when he sang about having his heart broken.

The next verse was important, so, so important. It was the whole point of the song. So he sang it the loudest, with the most passion.

And this time, it was definitely about him.

_Well he was just hanging around_

_Then he fell in love_

_And he didn't know how_

_But he couldn't get out_

_Just hanging around_

_Then he fell in love_

He looked Brendon right in the eyes as he sang the last line of that verse, and he saw Brendon bite his lip, trying not to smile much more than he already was.

Ryan only got part way through the last line:

_In the middle of-_

And Brendon surged forwards and stopped his lips with his own and Ryan knew he’d never want to sing the rest of that line. The guitar fell to the floor between them, forgotten, as they fought to close the distance that had stretched between them these past few days. It took Ryan a long time to realise that he was crying, that his tears were getting mixed into the kiss. They parted briefly, their lips still almost touching, and Ryan began to talk, too fast and too much all at once, “Brendon, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t tell you; I was too scared, I-,” he took a deep breath, “I love you, Brendon.” And his words were layered with the sounds of his crying, but Brendon could hear him, and he smiled against Ryan’s lips, loving the feel of how they moved when he said that, “I do, Brendon, I do; I don’t say it because I can’t, but I do.”

Brendon kissed him firmly, “I know, Ryan.” He told him, when he pulled back, pressing their foreheads together and looking directly into Ryan’s eyes. Ryan smiled, and his smile was filled with an overwhelming happiness. Brendon laughed, a breathy laugh, and wiped some of Ryan’s tears away, holding his face gently with one hand. His hand slid up into Ryan’s hair and he kissed Ryan on the nose, “I know you love me.” He said again.

And in that moment, everything was perfect again.

*

Brendon was walking on air for well over a week. Or he’d inhaled an unbelievable amount of helium and he was just drifting through life. Ryan kept telling him to stop smiling all the time, but considering he was doing the same thing too, Brendon ignored him.

Practice was just an opportunity to make Ryan dance with him, and to sing purely to Ryan at every opportunity. They started working on a song where Ryan got to sing too and Jon and Spencer sighed every time their friends blatantly flirted through song lyrics.

Ryan watched Brendon dance, pretending to hold a microphone, his smile wide. Brendon slid across to Ryan, dancing up against him and Ryan laughed loudly, mimicking Brendon. They vaguely heard Jon say “ _Jesus Christ_ ,” but they didn’t care at all. They were reminded of not so long ago when Brendon had tried to teach Ryan how to dance, Christmas Eve, the day before things had crashed; they’d both been so happy. Brendon’s laugh broke through the lyrics and Ryan’s face lit up at the sound; it hit him right in the chest.

January was nearing its end and they were walking down the road. The snow was beginning to melt and they were happy. Brendon sloshed his way through a puddle of slush. Ryan grimaced, “That’s disgusting,” he told his boyfriend, wrinkling his nose. Brendon just grinned at him and kicked some in his direction. Ryan jumped out of the way, squealing, and Brendon fell about laughing.

A couple walked past in the other direction and the girl caught Brendon’s eye, laughing silently at him as they crossed paths. He grinned at her and Ryan glared at him, but he was smiling so there was no force behind it. Brendon skipped across to Ryan and grabbed his hand, happily dragging him down the street in the search of somewhere to sit for a while. Ryan went along willingly, dragging his heels a little to slow Brendon down.

Reaching the end of the road they ducked into a small-chain coffee shop, hoping for warmth, coffee, and cake. They got all three.

Brendon led Ryan to a table, leaving his jacket there, before going to get coffee and cake for them both. When he returned, Ryan was looking out the window, watching a small group of children splashing in the puddles joyfully, a small smile on his face. He looked at Brendon as he sat down, “They remind me of you,” he told him, smirking.

“You get reminded of your _adult_ boyfriend when you look at _small children_?” he asked Ryan, a teasing lilt entering his voice, “I don’t know, that’s kind of fucked up, Ry.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, “I meant the childish essence, you creep.”

Brendon laughed, taking a sip of his coffee. It was too hot and it burnt his tongue, making him breathe in sharply, almost dropping the mug. Ryan chuckled, picking up his fork, ready to dig in to the slice of chocolate cake that Brendon had got him.

There was music playing quietly in the background and the café was warm. Brendon pulled his legs up onto his chair, crossing them and leant forwards on his elbows, cupping his mug in his hands. Everything was relaxed and smoothed over. Brendon smiled at Ryan, making Ryan lean forwards and kiss him gently, despite the public setting. The kiss wasn’t long enough to draw attention, and besides, the café was mostly empty. Ryan took another bite of cake, sitting back in his seat, “How long do you reckon we’re going to stay here?” he asked.

“Here as in this café?” Brendon asked confused.

“No, I meant this town. This house.” Ryan clarified.

Brendon tilted his head on its side, “Do you want to leave?”

“No!” Ryan said quickly. He laughed lightly, “No, of course not.”

Brendon grinned, “Good. Me neither. And I don’t know we’ll figure it out.”

Ryan seemed satisfied with that answer. They watched an elderly couple take a seat, not so far away from them, and Ryan giggled as they overheard the woman say, good-naturedly, “I hate you; go get me coffee.”

Brendon grinned at him, “That’s going to be us.”

Ryan didn’t even feel the need to feel uncomfortable at Brendon’s casual insinuation that they’d still be together at that age and he laughed loudly. Brendon looked pleased with that response. Ryan felt a twinge inside his stomach, scared that he was letting himself fall too fast and too hard. Or maybe he was scared that the idea of marrying Brendon _wasn’t_ scary at all.

Getting coffee together was becoming a regular habit, one that Jon and Spencer encouraged full-heartedly because it got the young couples dumb lovey-dovey-ness out of the house for a while. Sometimes it felt like the kids trying to force the parents out of the house.

Brendon ran his finger round the brim of his cup, watching Ryan, smiling. He still couldn’t believe that he’d gotten so lucky. Ryan wasn’t paying attention to him, too caught up in watching snippets of other people’s lives, going on around them, and that gave Brendon a golden opportunity to freely admire Ryan. The early afternoon sunlight was shining down on them through the window, lighting up Ryan’s profile, making his hair shimmer when he turned his head slightly. Brendon’s lips parted subconsciously and his eyes danced, seeing the way Ryan’s brown eyes became all the more beautiful as the light caught on his eyelashes and highlighted the flecks of gold in his irises.

Ryan glanced at him and saw that Brendon was watching him in awe, and he looked down at the table, embarrassed. Brendon laughed, “Sorry,” he said, smiling, not at all sorry.

Ryan’s eyes flashed upwards to look at him, and he was smiling too, “It’s fine,” he replied, his voice filled with laughter. Ryan bit his lip, and Brendon had to fight the temptation to lean across and kiss him again. In the end, he didn’t have to fight it, when Ryan initiated the kiss, leaning on the table and pressing his lips to Brendon’s determinedly. Brendon slipped a hand round Ryan’s neck for a second, before pulling away. He smiled, and then glanced around nervously. He caught the old woman quickly looking away, a smile on her face, and he grinned down at the table, feeling safe, and loved.

They talked for hours, taking it in turns to buy coffee, and were surprised when the man who ran the shop came across to tell them that they really did have to leave. Brendon’s eyebrows rose, “Are you closing up?” He asked.

The man smiled at him and nodded, “Hate to tell ya, but yeah, we are.” He had a knowing look in his eyes when he looked at the pair of them and he winked at Ryan as they got up, apologising for overstaying.

Leaving quickly, Ryan looked back at the building, “We’ll have to go back there next week,” he said to Brendon.

“Or tomorrow,” Brendon improved, in agreement that he had liked it there.

The walk back to their house was slow, in the dying light, and their hands found each other. They walked close together, finding warmth where there wasn’t any. Ryan looked at Brendon and he felt content.

When they made it back to the house, Jon and Spencer were watching some sort of wrestling match, and Spencer didn’t seem to be enjoying it. Ryan and Brendon didn’t let go of each other’s hands, standing in the doorway to the front room, and laughed at Spencer wincing everytime someone got ‘hurt’. Saying goodnight to their friends, the couple made their way down the hall to their bedrooms. Standing outside of Brendon’s door, the silence seemed weighted, leading onto something, and Brendon smiled coyly at Ryan. Ryan couldn’t not laugh, and he looked down at their still linked hands, thinking that their hands were chains that had been made to be connected, just as their lives had. He pressed his lips against Brendon’s and allowed himself to be led into his friend’s room. Ryan knew he wasn’t going to let anything happen, not yet, but he still went with Brendon, and they collapsed onto Brendon’s bed, giggling like schoolchildren.

The kiss that they shared was lethargic but nice, and Ryan felt himself sinking deeper into the mattress. Brendon seemed to notice Ryan’s drowsiness and made Ryan move so that he could pull the covers over them, still fully clothed, socked feet fidgeting to find a comfortable position.

“Nope,” Brendon said, sitting up and apologising, before pulling off his socks and throwing them on the floor. Ryan laughed and pulled him back down into his arms. Brendon fell back, falling in love, and kissed Ryan.

Before he fell asleep, he heard Ryan whisper against his skin, and it sounded like, “I never want to be anywhere but next to you.”

Brendon smiled into Ryan’s neck, “Me either,” he replied.

Ryan beamed into the darkness, there was a long pause, and then, “Also, I love you.”

Brendon didn’t reply, and Ryan was grateful but they were both smiling, and they knew it.

When they woke up the next day, Ryan found that he didn’t regret anything that he’d said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, it's getting fluffy again?


	9. The Greatest Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They collapsed into Brendon’s bed, mouths finding each other in the semi-darkness, fingers twisting into their hair; their clothing; across their skin.

Spring was on its way: January fell through to February, and then February slipped away as March took its place. The weather was already getting warmer and Brendon couldn’t be happier. He loved winter; he’d especially loved that year’s winter, but summer was always better. There was still a chill in the air most mornings though, enough that they didn’t leave the house most days until midday.

It was on one of those cold mornings that Ryan snuck into Brendon’s room, before the sun had risen, with two mugs of coffee and a blueberry muffin from the kitchen cupboard, and woken him up, with a smile. Brendon rolled over, groaning, “What time is it?”

Ryan snickered, “Eight AM,” he informed Brendon.

“You’re insane,” Brendon told him matter-of-factly.

Ryan shrugged, “It’s been said.” Then he held up the food and drink, “But look what I bring with my insanity.”

Brendon smiled at that and scooted over in his bed, making room for Ryan, “Apparently there is hope for you,” he laughed, gratefully accepting the coffee. Ryan planted a kiss on his cheek, as a way of saying good morning, before leaning back against the headboard of the bed.

They rarely shared a bed all night; if they were honest, they weren’t exactly good at sharing a bed, and besides, not many couples sleep together every night after only a few months of dating, so spending time together in bed in the mornings – and the evenings, quite regularly – was their way of making up for that.

Ryan’s feet found Brendon’s under the covers, and the cold touch of them made Brendon jump, almost spilling the hot coffee. Brendon sucked air in through his teeth, “Again? Really?” He asked.

Ryan just smirked at him and put his coffee on the bedside table, picking up the muffin and tearing a bit off to eat. Brendon opened his mouth, implying that he wanted some, and Ryan sighed, giving up his piece and putting it in Brendon’s mouth. Brendon snapped his mouth shut, capturing Ryan’s fingers, and Ryan squealed in disgust, “Ugh! Brendon!” he exclaimed, yanking his fingers away and wiping the spit down Brendon’s arm. Brendon fell about laughing, not looking sorry in the slightest. His smile made Ryan smile slightly and Brendon leant in to kiss Ryan, his lips tasting like the sweet breakfast food.

They lazed around in bed, talking about everything and nothing for a long time. When Spencer got up they heard him singing loudly in the shower for well over half an hour before they heard Jon get up and shout at him through the door. Brendon laughed, listening to the argument that ensued from their friends.

“I’ll sing whatever I bloody want, Jon!”

“Not at this time in the morning, you ass!”

“It’s always the right time for Rihanna!”

Ryan giggled, leaning his head on Brendon’s shoulder, wondering what on Earth Jon would say to _that._ Brendon shook his head slowly, sighing, before joining in the argument, yelling, “I AGREE WITH JON, SPENCER!”

They heard Jon laugh loudly, and Spencer start to protest being ganged up on.

“WELL I’M ON SPENCER’S SIDE!” Ryan screamed, and they heard Spencer cheer, and Brendon looked at Ryan as though he were _really_ insane.

“Really?” Brendon asked.

Ryan laughed, “No,” he admitted.

Brendon snorted. Then he rolled over in bed, burying his face into his pillow and stretching widely. “I don’t want to get up,” he said, his voice muffled.

Ryan kissed the top of Brendon’s head and hopped out of bed, telling Brendon that he had to too. Brendon just grumbled and pulled the covers over his head like a child.

“I’m going to get dressed,” Ryan told Brendon, heading towards the door.

Brendon poked his head out from his hiding place, a hopeful look on his face, “Can I help?”

Ryan just laughed, turning to look at him, one hand on the door handle, “In your dreams, Urie.” He grinned.

Brendon sighed dreamily, “You’re so right, _Ross_.”

Ryan rolled his eyes at him, smiling fondly, and left the room. Brendon flopped back down onto his bed, and sighed.

*

Since they hadn’t been up collectively in time for breakfast, they made lunch almost immediately. Sitting at the dining room table they decided that today was not a day for song writing. Brendon hadn’t been pleased with that decision but even he couldn’t resist the temptation of a _movie day._

The geek inside of them all sat up straight at the prospect of spending the day watching _Lord of the Rings_ and _The Matrix_ and other such classics.

Giving up all pretence at civility, they grabbed the remaining food, along with some extra, and carted it to the front room. Once there, Spencer set to work getting their DVD collection out and setting up the first movie, while the others ran off to get pillows a plenty and various blankets. Jon even broke out Spencer’s not-so-secret sweet stash. Throwing the curtains closed, Jon moved to claim the armchair, sprawling across it, legs hanging over the side, while Ryan and Brendon spread themselves out over the sofa. Spencer was disapproving of this arrangement, because it meant that he had to sit on the floor. Ryan, looking guilty, promised him that they could trade off in a few hours; Brendon didn’t look too happy about that prospect, and Spencer doubted that it would happen, what with the way Ryan and Brendon were already curled up together happily. But he nodded, “You better,” he said.

Halfway through the movie, Ryan had shifted so that his head was resting on Brendon’s chest, while Brendon threaded his fingers through Ryan’s twisting hair. Brendon spent a lot of the movie watching Ryan, admiring the way the light from the screen reflected off Ryan’s eyes and skin in the dark room, sharpening his profile and making him light up, beautiful.

The quiet of the room was calming, all of them just enjoying the peace of each other’s presence and the sight of the horrifying Nazgûl chasing their boys across Middle-Earth. Ryan shuddered at the screams of the Ringwraith’s, “God, I hate that sound,” he told Brendon, quietly, “They always scared me.”

Brendon chuckled slightly, his chest moving, making Ryan lift his head for a moment before setting it back down and relaxing again, “You can always sleep in my bed tonight, if you’re scared,” Brendon whispered, suggestively.

Ryan hit him on the arm, but it was a lazy punch that had no weight behind it. He didn’t reply for a moment, then, “We’ll see.”

Brendon grinned, feeling successful.

Spencer, sat less than half a meter from them, gagged, “You guys do my head in,” he told them.

Brendon rolled his eyes, “Last I remember,” he retaliated, “You were all for this.”

Jon laughed, “That’s ‘cause you wouldn’t shut up, Bren.”

Ryan giggled and Brendon whacked him on the head gently, “Shut up, guys.”

Ryan swivelled round and planted a kiss on Brendon’s lips, firmly, and Brendon melted into it, “I’m on your side, Brendon.” Ryan said, grinning.

“That’s because you get a little more out of it than we do,” Jon stage-whispered. Everyone laughed, Ryan blushing deep red at the same time, but thankfully it was dark so no one could tell.

Somewhere along the way, possible the third movie in, Ryan fell asleep lulled into unconsciousness by the rise and fall of Brendon’s chest and the warmth. Brendon smiled into Ryan’s hair, holding him close. It wasn’t late at night, it wasn’t even six o’clock yet, but the relaxing atmosphere of the front room had sent Ryan off to sleep, and Brendon was tempted to just let him sleep. But the temptation of food was a stronger feeling, and Brendon nudged Ryan awake gently, “Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty.” Ryan groaned and tried to bury his face into Brendon’s shirt in protest. Brendon laughed, “C’mon, let’s get some food.”

Spencer and Jon looked up at those words and chimed in their words of agreement. It didn’t take long for them to decide that they wanted Indian, and Brendon knew that there was one down the road. Ryan volunteered himself and Brendon to go and get it, and Brendon complained about the physical exercise until he realised that it meant he could spend some time with just Ryan.

They let Jon and Spencer carry on watching the film, Spencer jumped onto the sofa the second they stood up, and headed for the door, pulling on coats and shoes as they walked – Brendon fell over attempting that, and Ryan laughed at him before holding out a hand to help him up.

The street outside was empty, meaning that Ryan felt no shame in holding Brendon’s hand as they waltzed down the road, arms swinging in between then, feet stepping in time with each other. They had a list of exactly what the others wanted and Ryan giggled, suggesting that they purposely mess up the order, but Brendon decided firmly that he liked living. Ryan agreed with him after a moment’s thought.

Finding the restaurant, imaginatively named _India,_ they were pleased to see that it looked fairly clean, and run by a polite looking woman and her teenage son. The woman smiled friendlily at them as they entered before turning to bark something at her son. The kid looked irritated and stepped up to the counter, saying in a thick accent, “Hello, welcome to _India,_ how may I help you today?” He sounded incredibly bored, and Ryan had to hide a laugh, remembering being just like that in his summer and weekend jobs as a teen. Brendon also looked like he was fighting back a laugh when he began to scan over the menu on the wall above them, pulling out the list and reeling it off, adding an extra portion of egg fried rice and a bag of prawn crackers for good measure.

The food took a long time to be ready, probably because of the quantity, and Ryan and Brendon moved to perch on the chairs by the opposite wall, less than two metres from the counter in the small room. It all smelled delicious, and Ryan’s mouth was watering long before the food arrived, and when it did he immediately ripped open and bag and popped a prawn cracker into his mouth, humming appreciatively. Brendon rolled his eyes, going across to pay. Ryan tried to make him let him help pay and Brendon waved him off, insisting that it was his treat for him, but Jon and Spencer were paying him back. Brendon stole a cracker from the opened bag, crunching down on it with a smile, and Ryan smiled back at him, quickly pressing a kiss to his lips, “Thanks,” he said, and Brendon nodded, turning to take his change off the boy, valiantly ignoring the shocked look on the kid’s face, and the disgusted one on the woman’s.

As they left, Brendon couldn’t take Ryan’s hand due to the amount of bags they had, but he knocked against Ryan’s shoulder playfully, and smirked, “You never used to like PDA,” he observed.

“You bring out the best and worst in me, Brendon Urie,” Ryan answered, shrugging, and Brendon looked proud of that.

Brendon breathed in sharply and attempted to loosen his grip on the plastic bags slightly, “These bags are going to cut my fingers off,” he said. Ryan grinned at him, calling him a weakling, and Brendon made as though to punch him, but only succeeded in swinging the bags at him, damaging both the food and his fingers further, making Ryan laugh.

Their footsteps echoed down the road, reverberating off the buildings around them. Brendon skipped a step, trying to make a rhythm with the sounds and Ryan laughed, trying to join in. It didn’t work, of course, but they were giggling too much to care; looking like idiots as they hopped and skipped down the road, the fun taking their minds off their burning fingers.

Arriving back at their home, Brendon kicked at the door, hoping to attract the attention of Spencer or Jon. Luckily, they heard, and Jon appeared a second later, grinning and holding his hands out to take some of the food off them, “Smells good,” he commented.

It turned out that Spencer and Jon had given up on _Return of the King_ , much to Brendon’s disappointment, and had moved on to watching re-runs of _The Simpsons._ Ryan protested this, hating the show, but he was shot down by the three others. They watched four episodes before Ryan put his foot down and made them turn it over. While they ate they watched _The Bourne Identity_ and pretended that the scene with the pen didn’t bother them.

Placing the empty carton on the floor, Ryan brought his legs up onto the sofa that he and Brendon had re-commandeered and curled back into Brendon’s side. Brendon balanced his food on Ryan’s head, putting one arm around the man, and ate like that. Ryan stayed as still as he could, not wanting to get food all over him, but too lazy and comfortable to protest the situation. Brendon was trying his hardest not to laugh at Ryan.

When it seemed like he couldn’t keep his eyes open much longer, two films later, Brendon leant down and whispered in              Ryan’s ear, “Wanna go to bed?” he asked.

Ryan bit his lip, smiling, and turned to kiss him gently, “Sounds good to me,” he murmured.

Ten minutes later, they collapsed into Brendon’s bed, mouths finding each other in the semi-darkness, fingers twisting into their hair; their clothing; across their skin.

Ryan pushed Brendon onto his back, straddling him and kissing him deeply. Brendon pulled desperately at Ryan’s shirt, dragging it over his head, interrupting the kiss. They stared at each other in the darkness for a moment, Ryan on top of Brendon, before Brendon’s face split into a grin and he crashed their lips together again. Ryan responded enthusiastically.

Pulling back, Ryan almost tore Brendon’s shirt from his body, his hands moving then down to the band at Brendon’s jean’s working them down, actions fast, as though if he stopped to think about it he wouldn’t want to continue. Brendon rocked his hips upwards, to meet Ryan’s, and Ryan grinned at the feel of Brendon. He caught Brendon’s mouth with his, drawing him into a lengthy kiss, before his lips worked their way down Brendon’s jaw, to his neck, across his collar bone; Brendon moaned, body surging upwards.

Ryan started to giggle as Brendon rolled them over so that he was above Ryan, hands scrabbling at Ryan’s jeans, and Brendon laughed too, in relief that this was finally happening, “Oh _God, Ryan,”_ Brendon whispered as Ryan’s hands moved down his body. Then he groaned, “Why are you still wearing trousers?” he asked.

“Why are you wearing any clothes at all?” Ryan returned, and his voice was low, husky, overcome with _need._

Brendon’s laugh burst out of him, uncontrollably, and he kissed Ryan quickly, before pulling off his underwear, and then helping Ryan to get out of his clothes with fast desperate movements.

Brendon edged his way down, lips trailing delicately over Ryan’s smooth stomach, making Ryan shiver with pleasure, and Brendon’s mouth found Ryan’s dick, already swollen, and his tongue traced a line down its length. Ryan moaned loudly, too loud, and Brendon lifted his head to shush him. Ryan glared at him, “I swear if you stop-,” his words were cut off as Brendon wrapped his mouth around the head of Ryan’s cock, making Ryan thrust upwards involuntarily.

Ryan’s thoughts fell away, becoming incoherent; a mess that was incapable of forming anything sensible that wasn’t Brendon’s name or in some way related to the things that Brendon was doing to him with that damn pretty mouth of his.

“Oh, my, G- _Brendon.”_ Ryan couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t think. His hands found Brendon’s hair, tangling in the curls, as Brendon’s mouth moved up and down him.

From the sounds that Brendon was making, unable to stop himself, Brendon was enjoying this every bit as much as he was. Ryan’s chest heaved, breathing heavily, his hips thrusting upwards of their own accord, his hands not letting Brendon move away. Come was leaking from the tip of his penis, and he could feel Brendon licking at it. Ryan’s eyes were closed, head back, body shaking, “Brendon, I can’t- I’m-,” his words wouldn’t come out, he couldn’t form a sentence, his breathing was out of control, and then he came, crying out loudly, into Brendon’s mouth. Brendon came too then, spilling onto the bed sheets, collapsing against Ryan. Breathing heavily, he crawled slowly up the bed, into Ryan’s waiting arms. They lay there, as their breathing slowed, panting. Brendon couldn’t stop the smile that was working its way onto his face as he lay in Ryan’s arms.

They turned onto their sides, ignoring the sticky feel of their skin, not caring and way too tired to move, and Brendon wrapped himself around Ryan’s body, one arm curling around his stomach, his face pressed into the back of Ryan’s neck, “I love you, Ryan,” he whispered, “I love you; I love you; I love you.”

Ryan’s heart hadn’t slowed down; his stomach twisted. A sick feeling was building inside him, and he felt scared, more scared than he’d felt in months.

He felt Brendon whisper the three words into his skin again, and Ryan felt overwhelmed by it all.

He didn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for my terrible smut writing abilites.   
> I have finished writing this story now, but I'm going to continue to upload it week by week. Let me know what you think of the story so far! Six chapters (and an epilogue because I have no self control) to go!


	10. I've Lost More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence after the music was deafening, filling the room, expanding, making Brendon feel like his head was about to implode with the emptiness of it all.

Brendon’s arm was wrapped around Ryan’s waist, holding him close, and their naked bodies were pressed against each other. Ryan shivered, cold, and pulled the covers up his body, wishing he could pull away from Brendon, sneak back to his room, or to the shower, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Brendon waking up alone.

The problem was that he couldn’t bear to lie there in Brendon’s arms for a moment longer, either. He couldn’t bear the thought that Brendon would wake up soon, would kiss him tenderly, and would tell him that he loved him. Ryan didn’t deserve that.

Ryan’s throat grew tight, choking him, and suddenly Brendon’s arm was too close, too constricting, and he couldn’t breathe. He pushed Brendon’s arm off him, jumping out of the bed, grabbing his underwear and pulling it on fast as he heard Brendon sit up behind him, and he almost ran across the room, reaching the opposite wall and leaning his forehead against it, shoulders heaving as he tried to remember how to breathe. He couldn’t.

“Ryan?” he heard Brendon ask, worried, his voice sounding distant, far away.

Ryan could feel the walls closing in around him, remembered how it felt to have Brendon’s hands on him last night, Brendon’s mouth making him feel so good; so alive; so cared for. His hands raked through his hair, pulling at it, and he sank down to the floor, turning round and leaning his back against it, knees pulled up to his chest, face pressed to his knees. He made himself as small as possible.

The floor creaked as Brendon got out of bed, and Ryan didn’t want Brendon to reach him; to touch him. But Brendon’s hands were on him again, kneeling next to him, weighing down on his shoulders, “Ry, what’s wrong?” His hand tried to lift Ryan’s chin, tried to make him look at him, and Ryan pushed Brendon away.

“I can’t breathe,” he choked out, and the tears were coming, threatening to spill over, why did he sleep with Brendon? The question bounced around the inside of his head, begging to burst from his lips, but Ryan held it back. He couldn’t hurt Brendon the way he was hurting now, “No,” he moaned, “No…” His breath came out in gasps of air, desperately trying to suck it into his lungs, past the block in his throat.

He couldn’t breathe.

He remembered not being able to breathe last night, but that had been a good version of not being able to get the air inside. This was not good.

Brendon took his hands off him, but didn’t move too far away; Ryan could hear Brendon talking to him, but he couldn’t tell what he was saying. It sounded comforting. Ryan didn’t lift his head, focusing on breathing, and the sounds of Brendon’s voice.

Eventually – minutes, days, who knows – Brendon’s voice came into focus, “It’s okay,” he was saying, “I’m right here and it’s all okay.”

Ryan shook his head, trying to be rid of the buzzing that was filling it, “Get out,” he gasped, and he didn’t know if he was talking to the noise in his mind, or to Brendon. “I can’t-,” he broke off as a wave of sobs overcame him. Tears ran down his face, falling from his eyes like a waterfall, dripping off his chin and landing on his legs.

Brendon wanted so badly to hold him; everything had been going so well; last night had been amazing. He didn’t know what had gone wrong, “Ry, talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Ryan just shook his head.

“Stay here,” Brendon told him, “I’ll be right back, you’re fine, I promise.”

Ryan was only distantly aware of Brendon getting to his feet, and pulling on his underwear, before sprinting from the room, the door slamming shut behind him. It was barely seconds before Brendon was back by his side, crowding him.

“Space,” Ryan tried to tell him, “I need space.” His voice was so quiet it could hardly be called a whisper, but Brendon understood, scooting backwards, giving Ryan at least a metre of space, and Ryan could finally make his breathing slow.

When Ryan looked up, slowly, slowly, Brendon pushed a glass of water towards him, one that he must have got when he left, and Ryan couldn’t smile at him but he nodded gratefully. His hand wrapped around the cold glass and he gulped the cool water down, relishing in the fresh feeling of it.

Brendon watched him, wary. When Ryan set the empty glass down on the ground, Brendon took a deep breath, “What was that about, Ryan?” He sounded scared. Ryan felt guilty.

He shook his head, unable or not wanting to answer; he wasn’t sure which. Brendon waited, patiently.

Ryan’s lip trembling, Brendon’s eyes picked up on the movement, and Brendon felt an inch away from breaking down, “Ryan, please.”

“This is a mistake.”

The words slipped from Ryan before he could stop them.

The silence that followed them was poison.

Ryan coughed, slightly, “Last night…” he said slowly, “Was a mistake.”

Brendon shook his head, “You don’t mean that.”

Ryan couldn’t meet his eyes, but he could feel Brendon’s gaze burning a hole in his face, “I do.” He whispered.

Brendon got to his feet. He turned to face the door, as though to leave. Then he turned back, looking down at Ryan, opening his mouth to reply, and then shut it again. When he turned away this time he did leave.

And Ryan sat on the floor, crying, alone.

*

Brendon went where he always went when he couldn’t get his head around something.

He went to the practice room.

His feet carried him to the piano, unthinking, and his hands guided him across the keys, leading the way, his voice following, not knowing what he was going to play until it was too late and he was already singing.

_Put a spell on me_

_Walk away from me_

_It's called irony_

He would have laughed if he hadn’t felt like he was going to cry. He couldn’t think about Ryan; he couldn’t think about the way he’d been last night; he couldn’t think about how Ryan had looked curled into the wall crying; couldn’t think about the fact that Ryan was probably still there now. Brendon didn’t even notice that he was still in his underwear, or that he was shivering, his skin covered in Goosebumps.

_Sing a song for me_

_Love you endlessly_

His voice shook, his hands trembled.

_And I feel lost and confused_

_I am crying out your name_

A tear made its way down his face, taunting him, reminded him of how fucked up the situation was.

_You are my lover, are my friend_

_You are my one and only desire_

It was always Ryan.

_Walk away from me it's called irony_

He didn’t know that Ryan was in the room until it was too late and he was singing the last lines, his voice so weak he thought it might break, fade away, and never return.

_What did I do?_

_What did I do?_

_To get my mind stuck on you?_

He heard movement behind him and he turned, just in time to see Ryan leaving the room, his stance frail and weak. The silence after the music was deafening, filling the room, expanding, making Brendon feel like his head was about to implode with the _emptiness_ of it all.

*

Ryan walked. He didn’t know how far he walked. The pavement seemed to fall away beneath his feet and he didn’t lift his eyes from the ground. Head down, hands in pockets, Ryan walked. Brendon’s song was spinning around and around in his ears. Stuck on repeat. Stuck on you.

He couldn’t do this to Brendon. Brendon deserved better. Brendon deserved love.

Ryan loved Brendon, he knew he did, but he also knew that he wouldn’t let himself love Brendon. Not really. He never let himself love anyone; it always turned out badly. Besides, he was too scared to be like that with Brendon. Brendon, wonderful Brendon, with his charm, his good looks, his talent, and his ability to see right through Ryan.

Ryan walked. He walked until he had made up his mind.

He couldn’t hurt Brendon.

He couldn’t love Brendon.

*

Jon and Spencer stood in the doorway to the practice room, watching Brendon. He didn’t know they were there, or, more likely, he was pretending that he didn’t. He’d since got changed, not long after he’d heard Ryan leave the building, and he was now wearing the same outfit that Ryan had helped him out of less than 24 hours previously.

He was playing the piano, still, and it was a melody without lyrics that they knew. They’d heard him playing it to Ryan regularly. Ryan loved that song. He’d first played it to him a few days before their first date, and since then had played it almost every time he and Ryan had been in the practice room.

Brendon was playing it slowly, sadly, and he was crying.

Jon and Spencer knew he was crying, but they didn’t know what had happened, didn’t know how to comfort Brendon. So they turned away, leaving him there, playing his and Ryan’s tune.

*

Brendon didn’t leave the practice room, he stayed there, it brought him a false feeling of safety and he couldn’t give that up right then. He’d spent the last three hours trying to find and learn one particular song. It was the only song on his mind, and it wasn’t the song he played to Ryan; that one was just a distraction because it came easily to him, due to how often he’d played it to Ryan.

Now, Ryan was back in the room watching him. Brendon had stopped playing the moment Ryan had gotten home, so that Ryan wouldn’t realise what he was playing. Brendon tensed up as Ryan entered the room, and Ryan stood in front of Brendon, hands in pockets in case they shook, giving him away. He struggled to talk, and he settled on the first thing he could think of, since Brendon was sat at the piano still, “Why do you always sing when you don’t know what to say?” he asked him.

Brendon’s response was a moment late, “In case the piano knows something I don’t.”

Ryan nodded and, pulling a chair across, sat down. His breathing was shallow, “Brendon, we need to talk.”

“I know.” Brendon replied. He didn’t look like he wanted to, though, and neither did Ryan.

The room no longer felt safe. The room felt cold, like a crypt, and Brendon couldn’t stop the creeping feeling that something was about to die.

Ryan took a deep breath and spoke in a rush, “It’s not that I don’t love you, Brendon-,”

That was as far as he got, because Brendon interrupted him, “If you loved me, Ryan, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” His words were deliberate and his eyes never left Ryan. He saw Ryan wince and he didn’t get as much satisfaction from it as he would have thought.

Ryan paused, not wanted to confirm or deny Brendon’s statement, before carrying on, slower and more carefully, “It’s that I _can’t._ ”

Brendon didn’t understand, and he tilted his head to the side, staring at Ryan in confusion. Ryan didn’t explain what he meant, and Brendon let that one slide, asking instead, “What was so wrong with last night that it made you change your mind about the last three months?”

Ryan shook his head; he didn’t know how to find the words to make Brendon understand. “Last night was incredible,” he said, but that just made it more confusing, and Ryan knew it.

Brendon buried his face in his hands, and Ryan thought his heart would break. “You’re not making any sense, Ryan.” Brendon’s voice was wobbly and insecure.

Ryan felt his hands shake.

Brendon didn’t look – couldn’t look – at Ryan. He turned around, so that he wouldn’t have to, and stared at the piano keys, praying for naivety again, “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” Brendon asked, but it wasn’t really a question. It was more a statement because he knew the answer.

Ryan exhaled shakily, and then he nodded. Realising that Brendon couldn’t see him, he spoke softly, his voice was tired, sad, and regretful, “Yeah.”

Brendon didn’t care how Ryan sounded – like he would rather do anything but this – because he couldn’t think straight. That one word reverberated around his head, flooding his mind, killing all other thought. “Yeah,” he echoed, dully.

They sat in silence, letting it sink in, until Brendon thought he would explode and he couldn’t take it anymore, “Can you please leave?” he asked Ryan, “Just, just go.”

And Ryan did, fleeing the room, head down, rushing straight past Jon and Spencer who were hovering in the corridor outside, having heard every word. Ryan ran straight to his room and tried not to break as he fell onto his bed. Jon and Spencer exchanged a silent conversation with their eyes before Jon followed Ryan, and Spencer went to Brendon.

This was going to get complicated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry a little late, would you believe I was at a party? Weird, huh. I had lot's of fun, though :)  
> I would like to apologise for this chapter and beg your forgiveness. It has to get worse before it gets better.


	11. Boy Did They Have Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was how it ended. With one simple sentence.

His bed was empty and it was cold. Brendon wrapped his arms around his torso, for lack of anyone else to wrap them around. He felt sick. He couldn't stop shivering, longing for the warmth that Ryan brought.

Meanwhile, Ryan sat on the floor outside Brendon's room, three AM, staring at his hands. He missed the way Brendon's fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between his fingers, and he wished he didn't. He chose this. This was right. So why did he feel so... So empty. So broken.

It didn't matter that they rarely slept in the same bed; it was three AM, and they missed each other.

Ryan must have fallen asleep because when Brendon left his room, an hour later and unable to sleep, Ryan was curled up on the floor, unconscious to the world. Before leaving, Brendon ducked back into his room, grabbing a blanket and laying it carefully over Ryan. Ryan stirred in his sleep, and Brendon panicked, rushing away from him in fear of being caught. He had felt a flash of anger that Ryan was waiting outside his room, like he wasn’t the one that ended it, but Ryan was his weak spot, and that anger had turned to fondness too soon.

Brendon’s footsteps weren’t as quiet as he would like; he was scared that Jon or Spencer would find him. If he was honest, they were probably awake, listening to hear fighting, or crying, or singing, or anything that was an aftermath of the breakup.

As predicted, he found Spencer sitting in the front room, TV on quietly, mug of hot chocolate held between his hands. Spencer looked up when he entered, not looking at all surprised to see him. Spencer smiled sadly, “Is Ryan still outside your room?”

Brendon blushed, “Yes, but he’s asleep.”

Spencer nodded, as though he hadn’t expected anything else.

Brendon ended up sat next to him on the sofa; they didn’t talk, watching whatever crap show Spencer was watching, not really taking anything in. Brendon knew that Spencer was working up to saying something, and he dreaded the moment coming. He didn’t have to wait for long.

“What happened, Brendon?”

Brendon exhaled heavily, “I don’t want to talk abou-,”

“No, screw that, I need to know.” Spencer said, his tone final, “Me and Jon are living here with the two of you and we have a right to know.”

Brendon bit his lip, not even knowing where to begin but knowing that Spencer was right. He did have a right to know something.

“We had sex.” Brendon said finally, drawing the words out, realising how unreal it felt.

Spencer’s eyebrows rose, “Like, just the one time?”

Brendon nodded, “The night before… The night before he…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, and Spencer nodded, thoughtfully. “Everything was so perfect,” Brendon whispered, feeling like he was betraying Ryan by talking about it all, “I thought he- I thought he loved me. He told me he loved me, Spence.” Brendon’s stomach was flipping, and his eyes were filling with tears.

Spencer sighed, softly, “He did, Brendon. He does.”

Brendon laughed, and it sounded twisted and wrong in the quiet room, “If he loved me-,”

“He does.”

Brendon threw Spencer a look, silencing him, and said, “ _If he loved me,_ we wouldn’t be here right now.”

The drone of the TV filled the spaces between their words, and Spencer thought about how to reply, “Do you love him, Brendon?”

Brendon rolled his eyes, pretence at apathy.

“Just answer the question.”

“Of course I love him, Spencer.” Brendon said, exasperated.

“Tell me about how you love him.” Spencer suggested.

Brendon sighed, and didn’t answer for a long time.

When he did, his answer sounded like the lyrics to a song he'd write: “I want to think that we’re destiny. That he’s the North Star in my sky. That he’s gold and magic and all things mythical that has somehow become my reality.” Brendon said, eventually. Spencer waited for him to say more. “He could never let me down, but he has in so many ways. All of his flaws, his imperfections, they’re made to be loved by me. I fell for him so completely that I didn’t even think about the repercussions of it all. And, you know what, Spencer? Maybe it was always a case of who would give up first. But we both knew it wouldn’t be me.”

There was a long pause in which Brendon stared at the floor, and Spencer stared at him.

“He could burn the world, but he chose to burn me.” Brendon added, “I want to think that we’re destiny, but I’m not so sure.”

They didn’t speak after that, they just sat there, Brendon didn’t even bother to pretend he was watching the show; he just cried. Spencer wrapped his arm around Brendon, not talking, but comforting him, and he pretended that he didn’t see Ryan creeping away from the doorway.

Where he’d heard every word.

*

Ryan’s fingers slipped on the strings again, breaking the rhythm for the fifth time. Brendon’s voice fell out of key too, distracted by Ryan’s mistake, and Spencer stopped drumming, sighing in frustration, “Guys, again, really?”

Ryan flushed but didn’t look at Brendon, finding the chords again and strumming them, proving that he could still play it, and the others picked up the song again, Brendon’s voice not as strong as it was before.

Brendon couldn’t take his eyes off Ryan, and Ryan couldn’t look at Brendon.

Both men had slightly red eyes, evidence that both of them had been crying recently, and Brendon didn’t know how to react to that. He wanted to yell at Ryan, wanted to scream; _RYAN BROKE UP WITH HIM._

It took him a couple of lines to realise that he’d let his vocal’s fade out to nothing and, shaking his head, he tried to pick it back up; Jon was giving him weird looks. Brendon gave up and sighed, “Take five; I can’t do this.”

The silence after the music echoed in the room, and Jon put his bass down, gritting his teeth.

“Ryan, I need to talk to you,” Brendon said decisively, looking directly at the man who was still avoiding looking at him. Spencer breathed in sharply. “Jon and Spencer, go, please.”

Brendon didn’t take his eyes off Ryan as the other two left, in silence, sharing a nervous look. Ryan stood there, still, awkward, fiddling with the strings on his guitar.

The tension in the room was explosive.

Ryan still wouldn’t look at him, and Brendon could feel himself getting angry, “Would you look at me?!” he burst out. Ryan’s eyes jumped up to meet his, surprised. Brendon’s breathing was heavy, “How dare you?” Brendon said flatly.

Ryan looked confused, “How dare I what? You _asked_ me to look at you.” He sounded defensive, and that made Brendon become furious inexplicably.

“How dare you act like _you’re_ the victim?” he demanded, voice rising to an almost-shout.

Ryan looked hurt, and his eyes slid back to the floor before flicking back up, remembering Brendon’s request, “I’m just as hurt as you, Brendon,” Ryan whispered.

“For some reason, _Ryan_ , I doubt it.” Brendon snapped.

Ryan didn’t reply, falling silent again, looking down at the ground. Brendon wanted to slap him, and he wanted to kiss him, and he wanted to never have to look at him again, and he wanted to never have to take his eyes off him. Everything about Brendon was a contradiction in that moment. “You don’t know that.” Ryan said, quietly.

That gave Brendon reason to pause. He stared at Ryan, in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Ryan refused to answer, distracting himself with putting his guitar away, obsessively making sure that it lay flat in the bag, and Brendon knew what he was doing. Brendon crossed the room and put his hand on top of Ryan’s, making him stop, “Answer me, Ryan.” He said, gently, ducking his head under so that Ryan would have to look at him. As Ryan lifted his head, so did Brendon, maintaining eye contact.

Ryan sighed, weightily, and he blinked; possibly feeling too close under Brendon’s gaze, he stepped back. Brendon tried to hide the pain he felt at that small movement; Ryan wouldn’t have ever stepped away like that before this. Brendon swallowed. Ryan’s eyes were wide.

“What do I mean?” Ryan repeated, monotonously. The he laughed, and there was no humour in his voice, “I mean that I love you, Brendon.”

The way he said it wasn’t like how Brendon said it, or even how Ryan had said it in the past. It was said like it disgusted him, like he hated how he felt, like… Like it was Brendon’s fault, and he hated him for it.

Brendon stared at Ryan in wonder, “How did you go from-,”

Ryan interrupted him, “Don’t, Brendon.” He sounded tired. “Don’t ask me that.”

“What am I supposed to ask?” Brendon said, incredulously. He couldn’t understand and he wanted to. At least, he thought he did.

“Don’t ask me anything.”

There it was.

Ryan didn’t want to talk; didn’t want to explain. That was why Brendon needed to ask; needed to know. Ryan must have a reason that he didn’t want to talk about it. Something other than the bitter _I love you_ he’d given as an explanation. Not that that counted as an explanation in Brendon’s mind.

“I have to,” Brendon told him. He turned away from Ryan and walked a few paces, hands coming up and raking through his hair, in a desperate manner. He stood with his back to Ryan, shaking.

Ryan crept towards Brendon, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him, his hands trembling.

Brendon turned around, noticing that Ryan was near, and they were face to face. Ryan looked torn apart, and Brendon looked worse.

Brendon felt the urge to kiss Ryan, to grab him and hold him close; he’d never missed kissing anyone like he missed kissing Ryan.

Apparently Ryan felt it too because, a moment later, Ryan’s lips were on his and Ryan’s hands were on his neck and Brendon didn’t know who had initiated the kiss or where he ended and Ryan began. He could feel Ryan’s tears on his skin and Brendon was vaguely aware that he was crying too.

When Ryan pulled away, he looked terrified.

Brendon gulped, and he bit his lip, watching, waiting for Ryan to turn tail and run.

Ryan started to back away, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I’m so sorry.” He was shaking his head; his eyes were wide.

Brendon knew that he was a second from fading from existence as he watched Ryan try to leave, again, again…

“Ryan, please don’t go,” Brendon said, and they both knew what he really meant. “I-,” he took a deep breath, “I can’t live without you.”

“You don’t have to.” Ryan said, shaking his head, but still not coming closer, “I’ll still be here.”

Brendon tried to talk, tried to tell Ryan that it wasn’t the same, that he needed to be able to hold Ryan, kiss Ryan, love Ryan, but Ryan wouldn’t stop shaking his head and he wouldn’t stop telling Brendon ‘no’.

“It was fun,” Ryan said.

“Fun.” Brendon echoed, unable to process the word. It was so simplifying. So… trivialising. It was so much more than ‘fun’. At least, it had been for Brendon. It had meant something.

“Yes, fun,” Ryan repeated, “But it can’t go on.” He’d reached the door, back pressed against the post, “I’m ending it. It has to end. That was our last kiss, Brendon.”

That was how it ended.

With one simple sentence.

That was how Brendon’s heart died.

He shook his head, trying to pretend that it wasn’t happening, “You don’t mean that.”

“We’re not destiny.” Ryan said, looking Brendon straight in the eye, knowing that Brendon would know what he was talking about, and also knowing that it would hurt him beyond words.

Brendon’s jaw dropped open, “You heard.” He said.

Ryan nodded slightly, “I heard.”

Brendon didn’t know what to say.

Ryan turned to leave, but then turned back, “I never meant to hurt you, Brendon.”

Brendon nodded mutely. When Ryan left, Brendon stood there staring after him, and when Jon and Spencer came back into the room, wanting to know what had happened, Brendon just pushed them aside, not able to talk, and left them. Brendon found his way to his room, thankfully not seeing Ryan on the way.

Jon shrugged his shoulders at Spencer, “I don’t know.”

“Me either.” Spencer said in agreement.

“I don’t want to get involved right now, do you?” Jon asked, biting his lip. He scratched at his beard, nervously and Spencer smiled at him, “Nope.”

Jon grinned at him, relieved that Spencer wasn’t going to make him go and attempt to talk to one of their friends, and he raised an eyebrow at Spencer, “Want to go get coffee?”

“Oh, _God_ , yes.” Spencer laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry; I've been so busy it completely slipped my mind to update! Shout out to amber for messaging me and reminding me!!   
> On a completely different note: What do you guys think of the new Fall Out Boy song?! I, for one, absolutely adore it!   
> Tell me what you think of the chapter, or something :)


	12. A Memory Or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan felt close to falling over, and he never wanted to feel like that: Brendon had too much effect on him; that was why he had to cut it off.

The café was warm, bustling with life and Spencer smiled across the table at his friend, over his coffee; he couldn’t stop the laugh that was building inside him, “I can’t believe this is our life.” He said, grinning, and Jon grinned back, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“Me either,” Jon said, “They’re unbelievable.”

Spencer looked down into his coffee, before taking a sip, and biting his lip, “Do you think they’ll get back together?”

“You’re kidding right?” Jon laughed, “Brendon hasn’t taken his eyes off Ryan for months, even now, and I’ve never known Ryan to love someone so much, and I’ve known Ryan a long time.”

Spencer smiled, “Same with Brendon.”

The conversation drifted away from their bandmates, but the topic stayed on their minds, always ready to be brought up. They knew that being out of the house increased the chances that Brendon and Ryan would fight – or maybe make out – but, to be quite frank, Jon and Spencer didn’t care; they’d dealt with a lot over the months and they felt it was within their rights to have the afternoon to themselves. Not that they didn’t want to be there for their friends, or that they didn’t care that their friends were going through a really hard time… Just that they didn’t care right that minute.

People kept walking in and out of the café, and Jon and Spencer sat there for a long time. When the clock on the wall was closer to four than three, Jon decided they should get back to the house, just to check that Ryan and Brendon hadn’t killed each other.

They walked slowly on the way back to their home, enjoying each other’s company, and the peacefulness of the spring afternoon. Spencer found that he couldn’t stop smiling, even with everything happening, and his eyes kept finding Jon of their own accord. Jon laughed in the sunlight, and they kept walking.

Reaching the house, Jon let them in. The sounds of shouting made them exchange an irritated and worried look, and they hurried inside, kicking off their shoes by the door and throwing off their coats.

They found the duo in the living room, in the midst of a screaming match, which, by the sounds of things, had started over something trivial but had escalated drastically. Ryan looked an inch from punching Brendon in the face, and Brendon looked like he was on the verge of tears but still furious.

“Guys!” Jon shouted, trying to interrupt them, but the pair barely paused to simultaneously yell at Jon to stay out of it.

“You’re just a scared _child_!” Brendon lashed out verminously at Ryan, and Ryan laughed, cruelly.

“Oh, right, _I’m_ the child.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. Sarcasm was Ryan’s best defence and he used it like a weapon, making Brendon feel weak and pathetic.

“You do this to everyone that gets close to you,” Brendon answered, his voice didn’t lower in volume, “Yes, you’re definitely the child; you’re scared to commit, Ryan.”

And then Ryan _did_ hit him.

The room erupted, Jon and Spencer dashed forwards, ready to pull Ryan back if he attacked Brendon, or to stop Brendon if he tried to retaliate. Brendon reeled as Ryan’s fist impacted his jaw, hand coming up to clutch at his face, and Ryan was seething, “Don’t you _ever_ say something like that to me,” he spat.

Brendon recovered quickly, to save what little pride he had left in front of the man who he loved; the man who had just hit him and broken his heart. He straightened up and faced Ryan, head on, pulling his hand away from his face and clenching it by his side. Jon and Spencer didn’t react, standing alert, and Spencer tried to intervene, “Guys, do you have to fight?” but he was ignored.

Brendon shook his head at Ryan, slowly, and, despite his bravery and stance, he looked so sad that Ryan would have felt guilty if he hadn’t been seeing so much red, “You’re a coward, Ryan Ross.” Brendon told him.

Ryan’s face grew even colder; his glare burning through Brendon, but Brendon remained unaffected, and tightened his jaw.

The tension in the room was palpable and Spencer thought he’d forgotten how to breathe.

Then Brendon turned and walked out of the door.

Ryan’s entire body collapsed in on itself and he fell into the sofa, exhausted both emotionally and physically. He buried his face in his hands and moaned out a sentence that could have been for Jon and Spencer, or it could have been for himself, “I didn’t mean to hit him, I swear.” At any rate, Jon and Spencer didn’t have an answer. Jon moved to sit next to Ryan, silently, and Spencer looked at them for a long time, Jon looked back, before turning and following Brendon out of the room.

Ryan wasn’t the only one who had been damaged after that argument.

Spencer found Brendon sat in the hallway, leaning against the wall next to Ryan’s door and he was crying, no, he was weeping. Silent tears, save for the occasional hiccup, trailed down his face. Spencer went and sat next to him on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. His head leant back against the wall, tilted to look at Brendon, while Brendon’s head hung low, staring at his knees that were pulled up to his chest.

“You know why this has hurt me so much?” Brendon whispered, struggling to speak around the lump in his throat. He looked up at Spencer. “It’s because I’ll never love like that again.” Brendon told Spencer, and his tears fell from his eyes, falling down his face, sliding over his lips, dripping off his chin.

"You're right,” Spencer told him after a moment’s thought, “But you don't have to be so fatalistic. There's no sense in comparing loves because every one is different. The things you love about them are different: your experiences together, memories, common interests – all different. Just because you'll never love the same doesn't mean you won't love better." And then he paused, looking at Brendon, “It also doesn’t mean that you’ll never love Ryan again.” That was a risky addition to his speech and it had the desired effect. Brendon’s head shot up to look at Spencer.

Brendon shook his head, “I can’t love like that again, and I’ll never love him like that again.”

Spencer just watched his friend, sadly, hardly being able to bear the fact that this man, who was such a romantic, who layed out roses and wrote poems, who played and wrote songs that showed exactly how he felt, who gave his heart freely and put his everything into love, was now this. If Spencer didn’t love Ryan, he wouldn’t want to ever see him again. As it was, they were friends, and Spencer had to respect Ryan’s choice in this as much as he cared for Brendon’s brokenness.

Brendon hiccupped again, head bobbing with the action, and he seemed like a child to Spencer. A small child, afraid of the world, who was trying to make himself smaller and invisible.

“You still love him, of course you do, Brendon.” Spencer told him, speaking kindly so as not to break Brendon.

Brendon let out a sob, one that was loud, and it tore from his lips sounding forbidden and wrong, “No,” Brendon moaned, even though he knew it was true he wished it wasn’t.

Spencer sighed, smiling a little, and closed his eyes. He put his arm out, feeling his way to Brendon, and pulled the older man in. Brendon was like a brother to him, and he couldn’t bear to see him like this; ruined over one man. Despite being slightly younger, Spencer had always been an older brother to Brendon, and Brendon leant into Spencer and allowed himself to cry properly.

His crying echoed dimly around the hallway, and Ryan could hear him. Sat in the living room, not letting himself cry, Ryan curled against the arm of the sofa and listened to Brendon crying. Jon was still sitting by him, still not saying anything. Ryan imagined he never would, Jon knew that Ryan felt bad, knew that Ryan was cut up about everything, and he knew that he didn’t need to say anything.

When Brendon’s tears stopped, a long while later, Ryan had never felt so awful in his life.

That changed twenty minutes later, when Spencer had reappeared in the living room, and the piano could be heard, sounding from the practice room. Then, only then, Ryan cried. Brendon was playing their tune. It was burnt into Ryan’s soul, and it lit him on fire in the worst, most painful, possible way.

Jon and Spencer left the room, maybe deciding that Ryan needed a little privacy, but Ryan decided that he needed to talk to someone. He found Jon sat at the kitchen table and with the sound of Brendon playing the piano in the background Ryan sat down opposite him and looked at his friend with a tear-stained face and red-rimmed eyes.

“Why won’t you let yourself love him, Ryan?” Jon wasn’t going to beat around the bush, he hit straight and hard. Ryan hadn’t expected that, but he didn’t back away, he didn’t retreat.

“Because the pain he feels now is nothing to how it would be after a year, two years, three…” Ryan answered. “The pain _I_ feel now is nothing compared to that.”

“So, is this about him, or you?” Jon asked.

“Both of us. We’re kind of a package deal when it comes to this, Jon.”

The piano picked up in volume and Ryan wasted a minute worrying that Brendon could hear him, before he decided that it didn’t matter. Jon stared at him, “If you’re a ‘package deal’, shouldn’t you be-,”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Ryan interrupted dismissively.

“Hey,” Jon said, raising his hands, “You came to me to talk.” He paused for a second, before continuing, “But, truth be told, you should be talking to Brendon.”

Ryan nodded, “I know.”

“So, go,” Jon said, obviously.

Ryan sighed, considering ignoring Jon’s words, but instead got to his feet and found himself standing outside the practice room, looking in and watching Brendon play. Brendon was singing; when wasn’t he?

_You're sunlight_

_Smoke rings and cigarettes_

_Outlines and kisses from silverscreens_

The lyrics reminded Ryan of the other song that Brendon had sung to him, one of his own creations; the one that went _she’s the smoke, she’s dancing fancy pirouettes, swan diving off of the deep end of my tragic cigarette._

Ryan smiled, and he knew he knew the song that Brendon was singing from somewhere, but he couldn’t place it. When it hit him, at the chorus, he thought his knees might give out.

_Oh_

_Dear never saw you comin'_

_Oh_

_My_

_Look what you have done_

_You're my favourite song_

_Always on the tip of my tongue_

It was _their_ song. Not the tune that Brendon would play to him. It was the song they had danced to, Christmas Eve, drunk on each other’s presence. Ryan felt close to falling over, and he never wanted to feel like that; Brendon had too much effect on him; that was why he had to cut it off, before it got too far, before Brendon leaving him really would kill him.

_You own me with whispers like poetry_

_Your mouth is a melody I memorize_

Ryan couldn’t let Brendon finish, or he wouldn’t have any resolve left in his bones at all, “You found the song.” He said, interrupting and making Brendon jump, hitting a handful of keys. The clashing sound of the notes made the pair cringe, and they waited for the noise to fade.

Brendon was facing Ryan, and he nodded, slowly, “I hear it echo everywhere I go.” He quoted.

And Ryan remembered the next line, “Day and night,” he filled in, and tried to stop himself from smiling when Brendon’s face lit up for a brief moment, before settling back into pain.

“You remember the words,” Brendon whispered, and it was impossible to tell whether he was pleased or hurt.

Ryan nodded mutely.

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the clock that was ticking somewhere in the house too loudly.

“We can’t keep fighting, and we can’t keep getting distracted by our thoughts around each other,” Ryan offered up, eventually.

Brendon couldn’t think of a good counter-argument, and he felt his head nodding, even though he didn’t agree at all. His arms crossed in front of him, forming a protective barrier from Ryan’s words.

Ryan rubbed at the nape of his neck, anxiously, “Can we at least try to be friends?”

Brendon jolted his head backwards, shocked, ‘I don’t think I can do that,’ he wanted to say, but he was sure that he was saying something else, “Yeah, sure, I think that’s for the best.”

No, it wasn’t. The best was being together. The best was admitting that they loved each other. The best was seeing Ryan every morning and smiling over coffee, in bed or in the kitchen before the others were awake. The best was being able to tell Ryan that he loved him whenever he wanted. ‘Friends’ was not the best. ‘Friends’ was good; it was better than losing him, he supposed, but ‘friends’ was certainly not best.

Ryan licked his lips, “I’m gonna go,” he said, quietly, “But first I want you to punch me.”

Brendon looked shocked, mouth falling open and taking an involuntary step back in surprise, “I’m not going to do that.” He told Ryan.

“It’ll make me feel better; I shouldn’t have hit you.” Ryan informed him, pleading with him.

Brendon shook his head, adamant, “You shouldn’t have, but you did. We need to move on from that but I’m not going to hit you, Ryan.”

Ryan shrugged, “Alright,” he said, “Just remember; it’s still up for offer at any time.”

Brendon shook his head, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing, “I’ll never take you up on that,” he promised. Ryan pinched his lips together, looking at the ground, the corners of his mouth curving up.

Ryan’s eyes flicked up to meet Brendon’s, and he was smiling cautiously, “Remember that time we got completely smashed and you punched that girl who wouldn’t leave me alone?”

Brendon laughed, loudly, relieved that they were talking about something other than their issues, “Vividly,” he replied, “I also remember almost having to go to court over it.”

Ryan chuckled, laughing at the memory.

They spent the next hour in the practice room, talking, both of them sitting on the floor. They never once broached the topic of the last few months, and even though it hung over their heads, they forgot about it for a while. Brendon thought idly that maybe the strong friendship that they had always had could get them through this.

Even so, he wasn’t quite ready to forgive Ryan, and he left the conversation before Ryan was done talking, excusing himself, and feeling that there was only so much time he could spend in Ryan’s presence before the wounds started to open up and he started to show the cracks he wore in his mask. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's on time! Look, sometimes I can be organised and put together! La, la, la, they're still fighting.   
> See if you can guess what I'm going to name the next chapter by listening to She Had The World.


	13. I Don't Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their lips met, for the first time in days, and it felt like waking up again to Brendon.

Days ticked by and Ryan and Brendon didn’t talk outside of rehearsal. While they were playing, everything was fine. In the practice room, surrounded by music, they could talk and they could sing together without any problems. But the moment they stepped outside, the moment the music stopped and Jon and Spencer weren’t around, everything fell to pieces again, and the tension and awkwardness would rise. They fought like animals, throwing the other’s weakness in his face without a second thought, and they ignored each other with more talent than a thirteen year old girl in middle school. Brendon still hadn’t hit Ryan back; no matter how close he felt to doing it he always held himself back, there wasn’t much that would make Brendon hit Ryan. Ryan hadn’t reached that point yet, but he had come close.

The worst moment had been when Ryan had momentarily forgotten, five AM, still half asleep but woken by the sun, and he’d gone into the kitchen, pleasantly surprised to see Brendon up also, and he’d pulled Brendon into his arms and kissed him on the cheek, before moving to make coffee.

Brendon had stared at him for a minute, waiting for it to dawn on Ryan; when it finally did, when Ryan turned to look at Brendon again with a smile on his face, the smile had slipped away immediately. Ryan had shaken his head violently, apologising over, and over, and over.

Brendon had swallowed and shrugged, telling Ryan that it was nothing, that they’d just pretend it hadn’t happened. And they did, until they got into an argument that evening, and Brendon had yelled at Ryan that he clearly wasn’t over it if that morning showed anything. Ryan had screamed something back at Brendon, something wicked.

That evening had ended in tears, but when didn’t it?

Brendon had told Ryan once that he was addictive, like a drug, but right then he wasn’t sure that it was Ryan he was addicted to. Brendon fell asleep, thinking that maybe he was just addicted to tearing himself apart.

*

Brendon’s coffee had gone cold in his grip.

He was sitting on the doorstep to their house, watching the world go by, and he wondered when he had got left behind. It was early morning, and he could hear the others getting up inside the house, though he had been awake for hours.

Brendon’s coffee had gone cold.

Leaning against the door, keeping it closed so that the others wouldn’t find him easily, Brendon was surprised at how much he could hear from inside the house, and was led to wonder how much of their lives strangers had overheard. He could hear Ryan singing, most likely from the kitchen, and Brendon closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the door, and listened. The rise and fall of Ryan’s vocals made Brendon smile pitifully, it was one of their new songs, and Ryan had written it only a few days ago. Ryan’s voice was loud, _I don’t love you, I’m just passing the time_.

The lyrics were too close to how Brendon felt Ryan had treated him, and he exhaled sharply. The air outside was warm, the sunrise heating the floor and the area that Brendon was sitting in. His skin felt warm too and he basked in the sunlight, pretending that he couldn’t hear Ryan’s voice. _You could love me if I knew how to lie._

The song wasn’t complete; no one quite knew how to write it. The lyrics that Ryan had written were too real, and everything they’d tried felt like a lie or a misconception. Unnatural.

After a while he heard them talking about him, asking each other if they’d seen him, and he smirked. That faded however when, moments later, Ryan found him, “Are you hiding?” Ryan called from the window to his left – the kitchen window – and sticking his head through it comically.

Brendon looked at him, trying not to laugh, and shook his head, “Not exactly.”

“Well, it seems to me that you are.” Ryan told him, and he changed his position so that he was sitting on the windowsill, almost hanging out to talk to Brendon.

Brendon giggled, “Don’t fall,” he cautioned.

Ryan just rolled his eyes, “If you come inside, I won’t have to.”

Ryan waited, hanging out of the window, for Brendon to get up, sighing, “Alright, I’m coming in.” Brendon told him, and Ryan responded with a grin and ducked back inside.

Brendon turned to take one last look at the street and then headed inside, taking his cold coffee with him.

Jon and Spencer were sat on the sofa in the living room, or more, they were lounging on the sofa, when Brendon got into the hallway, “Hey, Brendon, you’re not dead!” Spencer said cheerfully as he saw Brendon through the open door. Brendon rolled his eyes at his friend, and continued on into the kitchen where Ryan still was.

The radio was playing, and Ryan was making something to eat, bobbing his head in time to the music and dancing badly, as Ryan always did. Brendon leant up against the wall and watched him, “Having fun?” Brendon asked.

Ryan jumped, startled, and turned around quickly, “Oh,” he breathed out, “You scared me, sorry.”

Brendon chuckled as Ryan blushed red.

Ryan turned his back on Brendon without saying anything else, but he didn’t seem as tense as normal. Brendon hoisted himself up onto the counter and watched Ryan potter around the kitchen. It didn’t take long for Ryan to become irritated, “Do you have to do that?” he demanded. “Watch me?” he clarified when Brendon raised his eyebrows at him, confused.

Brendon frowned, “Didn’t realise I was doing anything wrong,” he said, hopping down off the surface and heading for the door. Just before he left he turned back around, “But you can’t keep pretending that I don’t exist, except to shout at me,” he informed Ryan. Ryan gritted his teeth to refrain from yelling something vulgar at him just for that comment, and stared until Brendon left the room.

Ryan leant back against the wall and sighed in frustration, he seemed to have an affinity for messing things up, especially when Brendon was making an effort to be friendly. He overheard Spencer asking Brendon what was wrong, and Brendon snapping something back at him. Ryan groaned softly.

Turning round, with the intention of leaning against the counter and thinkin about his own idiocy for a while, he found Jon staring at him, “What?” Ryan asked, knowing full well what.

Jon made a disapproving sound, “You’re completely absurd, and I hope you know that.”

“I’m not absurd,” Ryan snapped, defensively.

Jon rolled his eyes, moving to make a mug of coffee, “Okay, but you’re definitely in love with Brendon, and you don’t seem to see that.”

Ryan scoffed, “Shut up.”

Jon watched him with dark, heavy eyes for a long while, and then he turned his attention to his coffee. With one last look at Ryan, a long, lingering look, Jon left the room, leaving Ryan feeling like a child who had just been reprimanded.

*

Ryan crept cautiously towards Brendon’s bedroom, with the intention of making up with him. He felt irrationally nervous with the anticipation of seeing Brendon, of talking to Brendon, intentionally. The wooden door in front of him seemed too tall, too imposing, and Ryan almost turned tail and ran.

Gathering his courage and his strength, Ryan lifted his chin and knocked on Brendon’s door solidly. He held his breath.

“Who is it?”

Ryan almost laughed; who else would knock? But he answered anyway, calling out his name in a voice that was too shaky for his liking. The wait after that was unending. Ryan could hear Brendon stand up in his room; probably feeling every bit as nervous as Ryan did, “Um, come in,” Brendon called. Ryan pushed open the door, slowly, and peeked inside. As he had guessed, Brendon was standing in the middle of the room. Ryan moved into the room, shutting the door behind him. They stared at each other.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan blurted out. Brendon just raised his eyebrow. “For in the kitchen,” Ryan clarified.

Brendon nodded, “I know.”

“Do you?” Ryan asked him, leaning up against the doorframe.

Brendon nodded again, “You rarely mean things you say when you’re angry,” he explained.

Ryan sighed, “You know me pretty well.”

“Afraid so,” Brendon replied, giving him a nervous smile. Ryan smiled back, but it was tight and fake.

There was a long pause; Ryan tried to think of something to say. He chose badly, “I don’t love you, Brendon.”

Brendon didn’t react the way Ryan thought he would, he just smiled sadly, “You think you don’t.” Ryan blinked at him and Brendon carried on talking, “You think you don’t love me, but you do. I know you do.”

Ryan shook his head, “You’re wrong.”

Brendon just laughed, softly. “I’m not in love with you either right now,” and then he bit his lip, “But I do love you.” Ryan looked confused, “See, Ry, you’re not _in love_ with me but you sure as Hell do love me.”

Ryan shook his head, “You’re insane.”

Brendon grinned at him, “You’ll see.” He told him.

Ryan bit at his lip, he wanted to kiss Brendon and he wanted to slap Brendon. Instead he walked across and threw himself into Brendon’s arms, holding him tightly, and breathing in the smell of him. Brendon seemed reluctant to hug him back. It was stiff and awkward. Ryan pulled away, looking down slightly at Brendon, “What’s wrong?”

Brendon spluttered, “What’s wrong? _What’s wrong?”_ He couldn’t process the fact that Ryan had just asked him that.

Ryan sighed, “Sorry, bad question.”

Brendon narrowed his eyes at him. And then he told Ryan what was wrong. How one moment Ryan would act as though all he ever wanted was Brendon, and then at other times he ignored him. How on some days, Ryan acted like nothing had happened but then an hour later would scream at Brendon, and tell him that he didn’t love him. To his credit, Ryan’s eyes didn’t leave Brendon’s face the whole time he was talking. He even seemed to be nodding, and when Brendon took pause for breath he interrupted, “I know.” He said. “I know I do all that, and it’s because I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Brendon watched him, waited for him to carry on. When he didn’t, he spoke quietly, “So you don’t know if you want to be with me or not?”

“I don’t know anything. I don’t know whether to kiss you or punch you. I don’t know whether I love you or not. I don’t know, Brendon.” Ryan was trying to explain, but it was hard. Words didn’t come to him easily when he spoke, not like when he wrote songs. “It’s like… It’s like a mess. Inside my head. You know when you try to do too much on the computer? All at once? And it just doesn’t work? It’s like that. Inside me.”

“You don’t know what to do,” Brendon echoed.

Ryan frowned and shook his head, “No, I don’t.”

“You could kiss me,” Brendon whispered. It wasn’t the right thing to say, if anything it would make Ryan hurt even more, but it was what he said anyway.

Ryan chewed at the inside of his cheek, “Can I?” He sounded so unsure of everything.

Brendon nodded, vehemently. “You can always kiss me,” he told him. “Whether we’re in love, or we just love each other, you can _always_ kiss me.”

Ryan smiled at that, and his hand reached out, finding Brendon’s and wrapping around it, tightly. Brendon allowed himself to be pulled in, reeled in by Ryan. They were barely an inch apart, Brendon could count every freckle, see clearly every eyelash. Could feel Ryan’s stuttering breath on his skin. Ryan sighed, “I’m so lost, Brendon,” he admitted.

Brendon smiled, sadly, “I’ll find you,” he promised Ryan, closing the distance between them. Their lips met, for the first time in days. It felt like waking up again to Brendon. Arms wrapped around each other’s bodies, holding them close. Brendon felt Ryan’s feet move backwards, and he followed him.

They fell backwards into Ryan’s bed, finding each other and clinging on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Chapter 13! Yay! Not too long to go until we're done.   
> Two chapters and an epilogue left.  
> How do you think it's going to end? Anything you're afraid's going to happen?   
> The next chapter title's from From A Mountain In The Middle Of The Cabins; see if you can guess which line I used?


	14. You Do This All The Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence after Ryan left was unending and it filled every part of Brendon, from his skin to his bones, much the way his love for Ryan did – unwanted but persistent.

Ryan was crying.

Brendon could hear him, but he was pretending to be asleep. He couldn’t face the day yet.

Ryan was crying.

They were still lying in Brendon’s bed, clothes on the floor, and their arms were still around each other.

But Ryan was crying.

His body was shaking, giving his silent tears away. Brendon wanted to comfort him, but he knew that he was the cause of Ryan’s tears so he carried on pretending to be asleep.

And Ryan was crying.

Eventually, Ryan pulled away from Brendon’s body, climbing out of the bed. He started to gather up his clothes and pull them on roughly. Brendon watched him through his eyelashes. Brendon couldn’t take the pretence anymore, “Where are you going?” he asked, making Ryan jump. Ryan sniffed and wiped angrily at his face, under his eyes. Brendon pulled himself up in his bed, into a sitting position and stared at Ryan harshly, “Why do you always run, Ryan?”

Ryan turned his back on him and pulled his shirt over his head. He hiccoughed. When he spoke his voice was thick with tears, “You know as well as I do that this has to stop.”

“Sleeping together? Or running?” Brendon asked, knowing the answer.

“We need to stop kissing, and we need to stop fucking, and we need to stop telling each other that we need each other.” Ryan reeled off the list like it meant nothing.

Brendon stared at him in disbelief, “What happened to ‘I love you’? What happened to ‘When the Day Met the Night’?”

Ryan stared at him as if he was a child, a small petty child who didn’t understand the ways of adults, “I was wrong.” He told Brendon. Of course, it was a lie. But Ryan had gotten very good at lying to both Brendon and himself. “You made me think-,”

“That you loved me?” Brendon interrupted him, “Ry, I never put the words into your mouth. I never forced you to love me.”

“You guilted me into thinking I did!” Ryan exclaimed.

Brendon just shook his head; he couldn’t find the words to tell Ryan that he never wanted _this._ He just stood there and watched as Ryan turned on his heel and ran from the room, like he always did.

The silence after Ryan left was unending and it filled every part of Brendon, from his skin to his bones, much the way his love for Ryan did – unwanted but persistent. Brendon flopped down onto his bed, pulling the covers over him and hiding from the light of day, where Ryan was, and where Jon and Spencer would be, waiting with questions that he didn’t want to answer.

Brendon knew it was just a matter of time before either Spencer or Jon came and smashed his door down, shouting at him about moping around again, and so he spent his last moments of peace counting the minutes, seconds, and sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress, surrounded by the warmth of his bed. 

He was right about the interruption.

“Brendon, get the fuck out of bed.”

Spencer’s voice rang out loud and clear in Brendon’s bedroom. Brendon groaned, sitting up and staring at his friend, “Why?”

“Because you know what Ryan is doing right now?” Spencer started, and Brendon felt that he didn’t want to know where this was going, “He’s sitting at the dining table with Jon having a civilised breakfast and not being a child about your breakup.”

Brendon moaned loudly, letting himself fall back into bed.

Spencer tutted, “Okay, from the looks of yours and Ryan’s current attire and hair, and the state of your bed, I think I can guess what happened last night.” He told Brendon, raising an eyebrow.

Brendon didn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed.

“But,” Spencer cried, “That does not give you the right to _sulk._ ”

“I think it gives me every right,” Brendon grumbled.

“I will rip those Goddamn covers off you if you are not up in five minutes, and I don’t think you really want me to do that.”

Brendon heard Spencer leave the room, although he more marched out than just ‘left’, slamming the door behind him. Dragging himself from the bed, Brendon found some clothes and trailed to the shower. He caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. His hair was sticking up in various directions from where Ryan had twisted his hands in it, and there was a very distinctive hickey on his neck that was made by Ryan’s mouth. Brendon rubbed at it, idly wishing that it would just vanish like the lipstick from the mouth of some girl at a bar.

As Brendon showered, he ran his fingers across his skin delicately and remembered how it was Ryan’s fingers a few hours ago. He shivered, despite the warmth of the water.

When he eventually forced himself to leave the shower, taking as much effort to do so as getting out of bed had, he examined his fresh appearance in the mirror. He then spent a good ten minutes attempting to cover up the hickey with some of his stage makeup. He was just grateful that they had some. If you looked closely, you could still see the purple-redness, but otherwise, he felt he had done a good job.

When he entered the living room, where the others now were, an awkward silence ensued. Brendon and Ryan’s eyes barely met, before Brendon moved on and walked through to the kitchen.

The kettle was boiling, milk and sugar on the side waiting, coffee grounds in his cup. Brendon stared down at the counter.

“I can’t believe you slept together.” Jon’s voice sounded accusatory. Brendon wondered why he sounded so pissed off. “That is the worst possible thing you could have done.”

“He was confused about whether he loved me or not. I was just helping.” Brendon explained, voice neutral and without any inflections.

Jon _tssk_ ed, “No,” he replied, “You just wanted to kiss him again.”

Brendon shrugged, “What does it matter?”

Jon stared at him, then, “It matters because Ryan still cries every night; it matters because we can’t practice or write songs without some argument between you two coming up; it matters because we can’t live like this.”

Brendon blinked, “He still cries every night?”

Jon nodded, then realised that Brendon still had his back to him and answered in the affirmative. Brendon let his head fall onto his arms, leaning on the counter. His eyes slid shut. “He broke up with me,” he whispered. Then he repeated it, louder, “He broke up with _me_. What right does he have to be this cut up?”

“Look,” Jon said, slowly, “I’m not saying that you should get back together, but you two definitely still love each other and you need to talk about it. _Without having sex.”_

Brendon laughed, softly and without humour, “That’s not really how we do things.”

“Well, learn to. Because you are killing me and Spencer.”

Jon headed for the door but, just before he left, he turned back to Brendon, “If all else fails… Remember that you two practically live a musical. Just sing to him.”

Brendon nodded, wordlessly. He had to fix this with Ryan; he knew that. If he didn’t, he ran the risk of losing him, not only as a lover – or whatever they had been – but also as a friend. He could never lose Ryan. Losing Ryan would be losing his smile and his laughter and his everything. No matter how much pain Ryan had caused him these past few months, he was still _Ryan_. And he was still the reason that Brendon smiled every day.

*

Brendon marched straight up to Ryan, who was sitting and tuning his guitar with a lot more concentration than usual, “We need to talk.” Brendon told him, firmly.

Ryan’s head lifted to look at him, slowly. His brown eyes stared at Brendon, “Haven’t we talked enough?”

Brendon shook his head, “We haven’t talked at all.”

Ryan looked at him blankly, biting his lip. After a moment he nodded, “Alright then,” he set his guitar down on the ground, “What should we talk about?”

Brendon had to fight to not shout at Ryan, “We should talk about the fact that we’re obviously not over each other, and we should talk about what happened last night, and we should talk about why you’re so determined to not love me.”

It was early afternoon, and the summer sunlight was coming in through the practice room window, lighting up the scene dramatically. The TV was blaring in the next room, on some kind of music channel. They could hear Spencer singing along to it, and Jon telling him to shut up every few minutes. Clearly, he wasn’t listening.

Ryan took a deep breath, “I am not determined to not love you,” He started, and Brendon scoffed, but Ryan carried on talking, “Because I don’t love you.”

Brendon almost burst out laughing, “You’re joking, right?”

Ryan opened his eyes, “No,” he said, “Last night proved it to me. I don’t love you, Brendon.”

It sounded like Jon had thrown a pillow at Spencer from across the room, because they heard a dull _thunk_ and then, “Hey! Piss off!” Ryan’s head turned in the direction of the doorway, listening to their friends for a moment.

Brendon stared at the floor, “You’re wrong,” he whispered, “You’re so wrong.”

Ryan tilted his head on its side, “How can you know that?”

“Because I’ve been your best friend for years, I know you better than I know myself. And I know that you love me.”

Ryan laughed, a harsh, cruel sound, “Brendon you don’t know the first thing about me.”

Brendon bit back the witty retort that jumped to his lips, and instead answered, “I know that when you get worked up, you chew the inside of your cheek and I know that you’ve been doing that a lot every time we try to talk about this.” Ryan stared at him, immediately stopping chewing at his cheek. Brendon almost smiled at Ryan’s determination to prove him wrong, “And I know that you find words difficult unless you’re singing them. I know that you don’t sleep with someone unless you really love them. I know that you hate having milk in your coffee but I always forget and you drink it anyway. I know that you wouldn’t still be listening to me, unless you knew that I was right.” His voice was barely a whisper by the end, and Ryan was staring at him, his expression getting softer and softer.

Then, finally, Brendon added, “I also know that there’s no one I want to be with if I can’t be with you.”

Ryan stood up. His hands were shaking. His lip was trembling, and his voice shook when he spoke, “Can- Can we finish this later? I need to- I need to go.” He didn’t wait for an answer; instead he left the room immediately.

Brendon stared after him, and felt that it was a near victory – Ryan hadn’t hit him, and he hadn’t protested anything. He stood there, listening as he heard Ryan say, “Jon, I need your help,” and he wondered what on Earth Ryan could want from Jon.

*

He got his answer five hours later.

Brendon was in his room when Spencer arrived at his door, telling him that he had to come out. It was with a kinder, softer tone than he had used earlier. Brendon looked at him curiously, but Spencer just smiled and told him that he had to come and see for himself.

Spencer led him to the practice room. The door was closed and that was unusual in itself.

Spencer smiled at him, elusively, and said, “Go in,” before walking away. Brendon stared after his friend, without the faintest clue what was going on. He turned to face the door and put his hand on the handle. Taking a deep breath he twisted and pushed the door open.

And then he took another deep breath. More of a gasp, really.

The floor of the practice room was covered in roses. Yellow and an almost pink colour. He stared at the roses. There was a piece of paper on top of a stool, standing in the middle of the room.

Cautiously, and taking care not to cut his bare feet on any of the roses, Brendon made his way over.

He picked up the paper.

The words were simple.

_I love you._

_You know that, right?_

Brendon could already feel the smile forming on his face.

A voice behind him sounded, “Yellow means friendship. Peach means gratitude. And red, red means romance.”

Brendon span around. Ryan was standing in the doorway behind him, and he was holding something in his hands. Ryan held it up, it was a dried out and pressed red rose. Ryan coughed, “It’s, uh, it’s the one you gave me.” Brendon took a step forwards, Ryan’s name forming on his lips. Ryan shifted, “I couldn’t find any roses that meant ‘I’m sorry for being a complete and total asshole’.” He told Brendon, a nervous and apologetic smile flitting across his mouth.

Brendon shook his head, “I don’t understand.”

“Hang on,” Ryan said, “I’m not done explaining myself.”

Brendon smiled, “Take it away, then.”

Ryan chuckled slightly, “Well, like you said, I’m not good at words unless I’m singing,” and then handed the pressed red rose to Brendon, “Hold this for me,” he said, before turning and pulling two stools over for them to sit on and picking up his guitar from where it leant against the wall.

They sat, facing each other, and then Ryan strummed the guitar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter and an epilogue to go!  
> How are you guys feeling about what's happening?? Someone talk to me  
> Please  
> ....  
> Anyone?


	15. Miles In America (To Reinvent Love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan felt like quitting the song and telling Brendon with his lips in a different way.

_There’s a shop down the street_

_Where they sell plastic greens_

_For a corner piece, I swear it_

_Yeah, I know that it’s cheap_

_Not like gold in your dreams_

_But I hope that you’ll still wear it_

Ryan’s fingers strummed the guitar fast and his lips moved as he sang the words to Brendon. Brendon watched him, staring into his eyes, and fought to keep the smile from growing too wide. It was more than he could have imagined; more than he could have dreamed.

_I’m not perfect_

_But I swear I’m perfect for you_

Brendon found himself swaying in time to the music, a laugh bubbling to his lips, uncontrollable happiness. Ryan was right there, and Ryan was finally telling him the truth.

_And there’s no guarantee_

_That this will be easy_

Truer words had never been sung, Brendon thought. He watched Ryan with wide eyes and his lip trembled as he restrained from grabbing Ryan. Brendon’s hand came up to his face and he covered his mouth, his eyes misting up.

_I’m no angel_

_I’m just me_

_But I will love you endlessly_

And that was all Brendon had ever wanted. The smile was too strong to fight, and he grinned at Ryan who was smiling back, still singing. Brendon had to work to keep himself from interrupting the song and kissing Ryan.

_Yeah, the ink may stain my skin_

_And my jeans may all be ripped_

_I’m not perfect_

_But I swear I’m perfect for you_

Ryan’s voice was so strong, filling the entire room in his need for the words to get across to Brendon. As he sang the chorus again, about how it won’t be easy but he’ll love him anyway, Ryan felt like quitting the song and telling Brendon with his lips in a different way. But he carried on, and when he sang the last verse, he could feel tears on his face.

_Yeah, I know that it’s cheap_

_Not like gold in your dreams_

_But I hope that you’ll still wear it_

The sound and the music faded away, and Ryan sniffed. Brendon let out a sound that was half a laugh and half a sob. And then they were kissing, Brendon’s mouth firm and insistent on Ryan’s. The guitar fell to the ground with a crash that they ignored, because Ryan’s arms were wrapped around Brendon and Brendon moved from Ryan’s lips to hug him tightly. And they were in each other’s arms, holding each other close, and they were both mumbling words of apology, ones that went unheard for the most part.

-        “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

-        “Please forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

Brendon pulled away a bit, shaking his head, tears tracking down his face, “There’s nothing to forgive,” he told Ryan.

Ryan smiled weakly, “I can’t promise that I’ll never mess up,” Ryan admitted, “And I can’t promise that I’ll never get scared and try to leave, but I do love you, Brendon. I really do. It scares me like Hell, but I do.”

Brendon shook his head with a laugh and pulled Ryan in for another kiss, pouring his love out. He’d never let go of Ryan. When he pulled back, Brendon stared at Ryan, “It took me a long time to realise it,” Brendon’s words were soft, reserved, “But you don’t tear me apart, Ryan. You sew me back together.”

Ryan grinned and kissed Brendon quickly, “Then I’ll just have to stick around and make sure that I’m always there to do that,” Ryan told him. Pulling apart, their hands found each other’s in between them, forming a link, “Besides,” Ryan smiled with a shrug, “We still haven’t finished that album.”

Brendon’s laughter rang out through the room and Ryan relished in the sound – he’d heard the sounds of Brendon’s tears all too often.

As they walked across the practice room, Brendon winced and whispered, “Ouch.” Ryan turned to him, asking what was wrong, and then burst into laughter as Brendon hopped on one foot, grabbing at the other, “I stood on a fucking thorn,” he exclaimed.

Ryan didn’t stop laughing for a long time.

*

Jon and Spencer couldn’t have been happier for them, with barely a moment spent on warning them that if they broke the other’s heart there would be serious repercussions. Ryan laughed and Brendon told them that he didn’t think that was likely to happen.

Months passed in a blur of song writing and recording, and they finally finished their album. Naming it _Pretty Odd_ , Brendon decided that it was fitting, what with everything that had happened in the house where it had been created.

Then there were another few months spent on getting it public ready and a long time promoting it before finally, finally, it was released. The four of them went to a local shop the day of its release to see it on the shelves. Brendon and Ryan held hands the entire time.

The pair hadn’t had a single serious argument in months, and it was almost Christmas time again. On Christmas Eve, Brendon and Ryan danced around the front room to ‘their’ song, singing the words happily. They kissed under the mistletoe and wrecked the kitchen making a cake. It even tasted good too.

Eventually though, they all felt it was time to move on. Spencer was the first to suggest it.

Sat around the dining table, he spoke hesitantly, “I think it’s about time we move out of this house.”

If he’d expected people to protest, he was proved wrong. Jon immediately chimed in that he’d been thinking the same, and Ryan and Brendon looked at each other quickly before saying that they’d talked about it too.

Handing in their notice to their landlord, they began to pack up everything. It was an odd experience. Soon enough, the house was filled with boxes. They all found it difficult getting around the house and, at some time or other, they’d all been the case of avalanches of boxes and belongings.

Ryan had been the first to knock over a stack of DVDs and CDs, and Brendon had laughed himself silly until he’d knocked over three boxes outside Spencer’s room less than an hour later. Ryan had given him a pointed ‘who’s-laughing-now’ look. Brendon had just stuck his tongue out at him, on the floor, surrounded by Spencer’s clothes. Of course, Spencer hadn’t been happy, and he’d forced Brendon to re-pack it all. Brendon complained the entire time. Ryan laughed at him, sitting on the floor nearby just watching him with an amused expression on his face. Brendon had told Ryan that he wouldn’t be having sex in the future if he didn’t piss off, but Ryan knew him too well to take that particular threat with any weight.

In less than a week, they were ready to go. Boxes in the van outside, and another van waiting for themselves, the four of them stood in the living room.

Brendon spoke first, breaking the silence, “This is weird, right?”

“Yeah,” Jon said, “This is weird.”

They stared around the room, and then Spencer left them, heading down the corridor and looking into each and every room one last time. Jon headed to the kitchen, running his hand over all the surfaces, feeling oddly empty inside. Brendon and Ryan went, naturally, to the practice room.

Standing there, Brendon couldn’t believe how much had happened in that one tiny room. There weren’t any instruments, or chairs, or roses for that matter, in the room anymore. It was just them.

They didn’t say anything because there wasn’t really anything to say. Brendon kissed Ryan carefully, hands twisting together, and when he pulled away, they were both smiling, “Let’s do this,” Brendon whispered. And they exited the practice room for the last time, Ryan pulling the door closed behind them with finality.

Regrouping in the entrance hall, in front of the door, they all put their keys on a small table. Ryan smiled encouragingly at Brendon, and Brendon pulled open the door.

*

They stood staring up at the house where so much had happened. It was the house where they’d fallen in and out and back in love. Ryan’s arm was around Brendon’s shoulders and Brendon’s was wrapped around Ryan’s waist. They turned their back on the building for the last time and walked, together, to the van. The next few months would consist of travelling around as a band, performing small concerts, making some extra money and building a new audience.

Ryan was happy. Brendon couldn’t stop smiling.

A year later, when Brendon went down on one knee, outside a Chinese restaurant, Ryan said yes, and a beautiful smile lit up his face.

They had a summer wedding. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is up earlier than usual but I'm just so nervous about you guys reading it so I had to get it up! I hope you like it. Thank you for reading my fic and all of your kudos and kind words.   
> There is an epilogue; that will be up this time next week. You can guess what it's going to be about. ;)   
> Again, thank you. You're the best.


	16. What A Beautiful Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You made my life into a goddamn musical, and I couldn't love you more for it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I love you more than ever, more than time and more than love  
> I love you more than money and more than the stars above  
> I love you more than madness, more than waves upon the sea  
> I love you more than life itself, you mean that much to me."

June 27th

Brendon’s hands were sweating and he wiped them hastily on his trousers. Spencer smiled at him reassuringly and told him to calm down. He’d been counting the days to this moment and they’d trickled by irritatingly slowly, but now it was here he couldn’t control the butterflies that were beating restlessly inside his stomach.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed in the hotel, he looked at Spencer, “I’m scared.” He admitted, and his voice was like a child’s. The white room that he was in seemed too large, too intimidating, and he was starting to wonder if it was all a dream.

Spencer knelt down in front of him and took hold of his hands, a strong and steady constant in Brendon’s life, “Remember who’s out there.”

Brendon’s face split into a soft smile, “Ryan,” he breathed. Just the mention of his soon-to-be-husband was enough to sooth Brendon. His stomach was still doing flips, but his heart rate was slowing. His breathing was evening out.

Spencer nodded and grinned, “Ryan.” He confirmed. Moving away, Spencer smoothed down his suit. The role of Brendon’s best man had fallen to him, and Jon was Ryan’s.

They weren’t having a massive affair, neither of them wanted that since they didn’t have an overwhelming amount of family or friends, but they had enough to fill the small hall that they had rented. Another issue had been the “who will walk down the aisle” question. It hadn’t taken them long for them to decide that they both would. Brendon just hoped it all came together.

He looked up at Spencer, “Have you got the ring?” he asked, anxiously. Spencer stuck his hand inside his pocket and pulled out the small box. “Show it to me,” Brendon said, needing to know for a fact that Spencer had it. Spencer rolled his eyes slightly, and opened the white box, showing Brendon the plain golden band inside that would soon adorn Ryan’s left hand. “And my vows?” Brendon pressed. They’d written their own vows, they wanted it to be personalised. Brendon had spent an entire week on his, going over and over them, making sure they were perfect. Spencer pulled those out too, a series of five pieces of white card, the black words written on them in Brendon’s handwriting. Brendon smiled and let himself breathe.

This might pull together.

*

In another room, not so far away, Jon was having a hard time calming Ryan down. The man paced his room, twisting his hands round and round, chewing at the inside of his cheek and shredding the soft flesh. “Ryan, please calm down,” Jon said for the thousandth time, making a grab at his friend. As Ryan slipped from his grasp, Jon sighed in an exasperated manner. Then a stroke of genius hit him and he pushed Ryan down onto the bed, forcing him to sit down and he crouched in front of him, “Ryan,” he said seriously, forcing him to make eye contact, “Why are you here today?”

“To get married,” Ryan whispered, eyes wide and terrified.

“No,” Jon answered, shaking his head, “Why are _you_ here today?”

Ryan stared at him in confusion, brow creasing, and then he let out a deep breath as his whole body relaxed in understanding, one that sounded like he’d been holding it for a very long time, “I’m here because of Brendon,” he said in realisation, and then, “I’m here because I love Brendon.”

Jon smiled. “Damn right.” He patted Ryan on the shoulder as he stood up, “And he loves you too.”

Ryan could only smile, the nerves still fluttering at the edge of his stomach, but less so than before – if it was for Brendon, he could do just about anything.

*

Both men, on opposite sides of the buildings, two doors and a long walkway between them, twisted their hands into knots while their respective best men told them to calm down. Again.

Both of them insisted that they _were_ calm. But they weren’t. Neither of them were. They were itching to get the doors thrown open, to get through them, to get across the damn space that separated them. They were so close, but still unable to see each other.

Brendon hopped back and forth between his feet, unable to stand still, and Ryan paced back and forth, dying for the music to start – once the music was playing, he was allowed to see Brendon. He’d decided that not being able to see Brendon the morning of the wedding was a tradition devised to torture people who were getting married. Brendon was his drug, the one that brought him to a high, but also brought him down. Brendon kept him sane. He needed to see Brendon, because in the act of seeing Brendon, Ryan would remember what it meant to breathe again.

And then suddenly, suddenly, the music was playing. Jon looked at Ryan, and Spencer looked at Brendon, and they both smiled as their friends eyes’ widened and their desire to get through the doors increased.

The doors started to open.

And there he was.

There he was.

Brendon’s face split open into a grin, and Ryan let out a massive breath of air. They both looked so beautiful, and it was all they could do to not run across the space between them.

Thank God for Jon and Spencer.

They started to walk towards each other, at the same time, feet stepping barely in time with the music – their tune, the piano one, the one that Brendon would play to Ryan on lazy afternoons – and it was as though the crowd wasn’t there; all they could see was each other.

They weren’t supposed to touch when they met in the middle, but they couldn’t help it, and Ryan threw himself into Brendon’s arms, whispering in his ear, “Missed you.” And Brendon grinned and kissed his forehead.

The ceremony passed in a blur. They weren’t actually quite sure what was happening, so lost in the other’s eyes. Spencer stepped forwards and nudged Brendon when it came time to say their vows, because Brendon didn’t have a clue.

Brendon coughed, and then Spencer passed him the white cards. Brendon’s eyes scanned across the words. Then he looked at Ryan, speaking to him in a clear, controlled, voice.

“Growing up I always knew that I’d one day find someone that I’d happily spend the rest of my life with. I never even questioned that. I never once entertained the idea that I might end up alone. I believe in soulmates, I believe in true love, I believe in all of that,” Brendon’s eyes stayed mostly fixed on Ryan, having learnt the words by heart, but every now and then they jumped down to the page, most likely from the nerves, “But at times you made me question it. We met when we were teenagers, and I knew I loved you from day three. I also knew that you didn’t think of me that way, so we became best friends. That was more than enough for me. Even so, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you did turn out to be the true love I’ve always been looking for. I think the fact that you make me question it only solidified the idea that you were the one. We always found our way back to each other. If it had been anyone but you, Ry, I’d have sent them away.” Ryan chuckled at that. “I know pretty much everything about you – but I would love to know more. I _can’t wait_ to know more. The first time I saw you, I knew.  I didn’t know what you would come to mean to me, that you would be the man that I was destined to love, but I knew that I loved you. You,” Brendon paused, fixing his eyes on Ryan, and he smiled, stopping in the middle of his wedding vows to smile at Ryan, “You have made my life an adventure, from the moment I met you. You make my world a better place, just by being in it. I promise that I will always be there for you, through thick and thin, near or far,” he let out a breathy laugh, “Whether we’re in love or we just love each other,” Ryan chuckled at that, making light of what had been, in retrospect, an awful conversation, “But most of all... most of all I promise that I love you, I always have, and I always will. From now until eternity comes crashing down around us. And then even after that. You’re my drug, Ryan Ross, and I’m never coming down from that high.”

And suddenly it was Ryan’s turn. Unlike Brendon, he didn’t have neat cards, he had a piece of paper, folded in a million different ways, and written on with a blue biro. Taking it out of his pocket, he smirked at the scruffiness of it all and threw an apologetic smile at Brendon. Brendon laughed. “I’m no good with words unless I’m writing a song,” Ryan’s eyes flicked up to Brendon’s for a moment before looking back down at the paper. “But I’ll do my best here. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You are the only reason that I still know how to sing. You are my heart and my soul; you are a part of me, the best part of me. I can’t wait to grow with you, to grow old with you. I can’t wait to see the life that we build together. You made my life into a goddamn musical, and I couldn’t love you more for it.” Brendon laughed, eyes alight with joy, and Ryan couldn’t stop the laugh that sprang to his lips. They grinned at each other for a moment, thinking about the past years, until Ryan’s dropped his eyes to the paper once more, his voice becoming serious again, “It doesn’t matter where we go or what we do or even if I forget how to play and you forget how to sing—as long as we’re together, nothing else will matter. I was always scared to let myself fall in love and you know that. I put you through far too much in my struggle with that. I put you through so much it’s a miracle that you still loved me… that you _still_ love me, even now. Just know, Brendon, I didn’t know what love was till I loved you.” That was all he had written on the paper and he let his hands fall to his sides, his right hand still holding the crumpled vows, and then he smiled openly at Brendon, “You gave me a new definition, the right definition, of love. You’re the day to my night and I thank you for that.”

At some point they exchanged rings, and then they kissed – a brief kiss, but one that meant so much to them, arms wrapping around each other and mouths exchanging silent ‘I love you’s, only distantly aware of the sound of clapping, cheering, and wolf-whistling from a certain few members of the guest list.

The ceremony transitioned into the after party seamlessly, and Brendon made a mental note to spend a long time thanking their wedding planners for being awesome.

In true performer style, they didn’t have a first dance; they had a first song.

The first time they’d heard the song, it was Christmas Eve, and they were in love. The second time, Brendon had been singing it, and they were crying, breaking down and breaking up. This time, they were in love again, and they sang their song, harmonising perfectly and not taking their eyes off each other the entire time.

_You're my favourite song_

_Always on the tip of my tongue_

Then came the part that Brendon had been, well, not _dreading_ exactly, but he’d been nervous about it, to say the least. It was time for Jon and Spencer to give their speeches. With no parents to speak of from either Ryan or Brendon, they’d decided that both best men would give a speech. It made Brendon worried just thinking about the things that their two friends could come out with.

Jon went first. Standing up, he coughed, clearing his throat and drawing the attention of the room. He glanced down at his notes, then back up, “I’m not a public speaker, I’d just like to say that before I start. It’s hard to know where to begin when you know people so well. How can I even begin to convey to you all how brilliant these two men are, and how much more brilliant – and sometimes horrendous – they are combined. I only say ‘and sometimes horrendous’ because you need to know what the getting together stage was like for these two.” He paused, “It was awful,” he confessed with a laugh and the room echoed him. Jon looked at his friends, smiling fondly. “The first time these two met, way back in high school, I already knew Ryan. He couldn’t take his eyes off the weird emo kid in the corner, who, of course, was Brendon. I remember teasing him about it; I was rather horrible if I remember correctly. Nothing ever came of it, of course, until last year. It was a weird time, to be quite honest. I don’t want to talk for too long – that’s Spencer’s job – ,” Here Spencer stuck his tongue out at Jon while Brendon and Ryan laughed, “But it really was a hard time. Put simply, I spent a lot of time making sure that both of these guys were okay, and it was a tough job. They seemed intent on ripping each other apart. Sometimes, they managed. It was how they dealt with the fact that they loved each other, more than they knew what to do with. Also, they’re idiots. In the end, it worked out great, which is why we’re here today. Despite their ups and their downs, I have never known two people more perfect for each other than the two men sitting here today. If you could all raise you glasses, I’d like to propose a toast: To Ryan and Brendon, may your married lives be happy and long.” Everyone repeated the words, “To Ryan and Brendon,” with varying levels of coherence. Glasses clinked, people drank, and then silence fell again as Jon sat back down and Spencer took the stage. Both Brendon and Ryan let out a sigh of relief about how well that had gone – no embarrassment, nothing disastrous – but now it was Spencer’s turn.

He was already buzzing, bubbly with happiness, and he grinned out at everyone, “Brendon and Ryan,” he mused. Jon rolled his eyes – he could see how this was going to go. “Brendon and Ryan are fucking insane.” Ryan put his head down on his arms; Brendon rubbed his back reassuringly, watching Spencer with trepidation. “In the best possible way, of course!” Spencer clarified. Brendon smiled weakly at him, and nodded, telling him to continue. Spencer took a breath, “Okay, not the best way to start a best man’s speech, but then I’m not a genius with words like these two. Although, for two word-genies, they’re awfully bad at talking; that’s probably why our house became a musical in the months leading up to them sorting themselves out.” Spencer carried on in the same vein, babbling about Ryan and Brendon’s habit of singing their feelings, and then he moved on to talk about stupid things the pair of them had done, and Ryan and Brendon’s eyes went wide, “Now, I’m actually really into cooking, y’know. So I take a lot of care of my kitchen,” The couple knew where _this_ was going, “And one thing Brendon and Ryan don’t know is that I know all about their mishap in _my kitchen_ back in December. So, these two _idiots_ decided that they were going to make a cake…” He carried on, shaming the couple, but especially Brendon, pointing out that this was all part of Brendon’s Get-Ryan-To-Date-Me plan. After that had settled down, and people had stopped laughing at the thought of the event, Spencer became a little more serious. His parting lines were, “Brendon once said to me, just after their break up, that he wanted to believe that he and Ryan were destiny, but he just wasn’t sure anymore. Well, Brendon, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you guys _are_ destiny. Because you are. You guys are the dictionary definition of ‘meant to be’. Ryan was made for you, just as you were made for him. So good luck. You’re both forces of nature when separate so God only knows what you’re going to be like for the rest of your lives.” He then made a quick toast and sat down.

Brendon and Ryan quickly thanked everyone for coming and thanked Jon and Spencer for their speeches, overall they’d gone better than expected, and then announced that the dance floor would be cleared promptly. It didn’t take long for the guests to begin milling around, chatting, and Brendon and Ryan took it upon themselves to go around and talk to everyone.

It was a beautiful wedding. The couple was beautiful, the decorations were beautiful, and their love… Well, their love was odd – Pretty Odd, to be precise – but it was beautiful too.

But the most beautiful part of it all, at least in Brendon’s opinion, was the way Ryan smiled at him, from the other side of the room, as they both pretended to be interested in what some random guest was saying about the wedding. It was the way Ryan’s smile reached his eyes. It was the way Ryan turned to the person he was talking to, making some excuse, and then how he headed over to Brendon, taking his hand – his husband’s hand – and leading him away. Holding him close and kissing him, outside the hall, under the stars.

The most beautiful thing was the way they smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU.  
> I started writing this fic June 20th. Nine days later, I started uploading it to the internet. Aaannnd then I got addicted. So, here we are four months on and it’s finally done. Except, maybe not so much. See, the problem is, I really did get addicted. So… I kinda started writing a sequel? I finished writing OLIPO around the time that chapter nine got uploaded and that left me with free time. You might have noticed that a little while back I updated this so that it was part of the “Our Love…” series.  
> Therefore, as of October 25th (unless something happens to prevent that) I will start uploading Our Love Has Vices and Virtues to the Our Love… series.  
> You don’t have to read it. You can leave it here, safe in the knowledge that they are happily married and very much in love. Or… you can come with me and read more into their fictional lives.  
> Either way, thank you so much for reading OLIPO and sticking with it to the end. Your kudos and comments have been great and I appreciate every single one of you that has read this. You’re brilliant.  
> And, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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